


Icebergs and Angels (Friendship/Ace-Aro Relationship Version)

by The_Bentley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anger, Comfort, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Drinking, Edwardian Period, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Historical, Historical Accuracy, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), RMS Titanic, Smoking, Some Humor, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), at least as much as possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: It's 1912 and Aziraphale, not wanting to be lonely during his mission aboardTitanic, invites Crowley along for a cruise.  But he boards the ship before knowing exactly what his mission is.  When he learns Heaven wants to teach humanity a lesson for the claim even God couldn't sink it, it could damage his relationship with Crowley, who has his own views on Heaven's need to punish innocents.  Can he repair things with Crowley and can they work together to save as many lives as possible?Please note: There are two versions of this, one rated Mature (spicer relationship) and one rated Teen (friendship/ace-aro relationship, depending on how you decide to intrepret it). The only difference is the level of relationship that adds some extra material in the M version. Otherwise, they're identical. My friend, whom I wrote this for, doesn't ship these two, but I do, which is why there are two versions.  If you want the spicier version, gohere.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 23





	1. Boarding

**Author's Note:**

> The Historical Accuracy tag means I try my best to keep it real where possible. Passengers, crew, rooms and descriptions of them and the events of the sinking itself stay as close to historically accurate as I can suss out using free internet sources.

The ocean around them was like glass as the winds were calm and the sky above them so clear one could see a multitude of stars through the cold night air. It would have been an absolutely beautiful sight if it wasn’t for the cries of the ship’s passengers in the freezing water calling out for rescue that wouldn’t come for the lifeboats had already left. Off in the distance were the white shapes of them rowing away from where the crippled ship had broken apart and sank below the waves. 

Two figures sat precariously on a large piece of debris, one’s white lifebelt stood out against his black clothing. The other was visible by virtue of his light coloured clothing and blond hair. Both looked outright uncomfortable on their perch with the blond looking miserable about the loss of life happening around him while the one in dark clothing seemed to just be furious about it. 

The one in dark clothing balanced on the piece of wood they were floating on with his knees drawn up to his chest and his chin resting on them. He glowered over a pair of dark glasses at his companion, who knelt there with his hands clutching the sides of the wood. 

“Some relaxing cruise _this_ was.”

_Southampton, England, 10 April 1912_

Crowley looked over the ship, decidedly not impressed with it despite the claims of how luxurious it was. He turned to his servants, instructing them to take his luggage to his Parlour Suite and return for their payments. He was unsure how long he was going to be gone, so he would then give them each a years’ pay as severance and a reference letter to make getting a new position much easier. Impatiently he shoved his hands in the coat of his black lounge suit and waited for both his servants and Aziraphale, who invited him on this voyage in the first place. 

Why Aziraphale was going remained a mystery. As far as he knew, the angel had never relished being sent to the Americas and avoided it at all costs. Crowley didn’t mind so much, but he was rarely in that part of the world. His most recent visit was to shove chests of tea fresh from China off three ships into Boston Harbour, mostly because the mayhem looked like fun. He didn’t particularly care one way or another about the Colonists’ taxation problems, but revolts meant plenty of trouble could be stirred up and he more than met his quotas for Hell those few years America and Great Britain were at each others’ throats.

He had just dispersed the last of the envelopes of cash to his now-former servants when he spotted Aziraphale approaching, which wasn’t difficult given he was dressed in a light beige suit that was about fifty years out of date fashion-wise. Rolling his eyes behind his small round dark glasses, Crowley beckoned him over. Aziraphale carried with him one slightly battered trunk that Crowley repaired with a thought out of embarrassment. He wished he could fix that suit, too, without asking permission first.

“Hello, Crowley. I’m glad you decided to come with me,” beamed Aziraphale. “It would have been an awfully dull week without some company.”

“You’re kidding, right?” asked Crowley. “A ship full of the elite. Movers and shakers of the financial world. The insanely rich. Those with more influence than God. And you’d be bored.”

“They’re more your crowd than mine,” said Aziraphale stiffly. He straightened his tie as he spoke then picked up his luggage again.

“Can I fix your suit at least? Please? You’re going to get snubbed and whatever mission you’re on is going to fail.”

“I don’t even know my mission yet. I was told to expect a telegraph before boarding.”

“C’mon.” Crowley grabbed his arm to drag him behind a stack of crates awaiting their turn to be taken to the ship’s cargo holds. 

Snapping his fingers, he changed Aziraphale’s suit to a darker beige shade in the cut favoured by men these days. Examining him critically, he wished up a bowler hat in a medium brown shade, handing it to the angel who put it on without an argument.

“You’ll do,” he said. “Don’t you dare turn anything tartan and learn to live with a regular tie for now. You can go back to that stupid cravat when we dock, ok? Don’t embarrass yourself. Or me.”

They strolled back out to see boarding had begun. Getting out tickets, they walked to the gangway to wait in the short line of first-class passengers. It didn’t take long to get to the front where a crew member checked their tickets and returned Aziraphale’s along with an envelope. 

“I was asked to give this to you when you boarded, Mr. Fell,” he said.

“Oh, thank you,” replied Aziraphale, discreetly tipping the man as he stuffed the envelope in his pocket.

Heading first to their suite, they explored their accommodations for the voyage – an elegant sitting room complete with a faux fireplace and a couple of plush sofas Aziraphale could spend his nights reading on, two large bedrooms with two beds each, a private bathroom between the bedrooms and a private promenade. Crowley approved. At least there would be secluded spaces where they could get away from each other. Aziraphale found it a little much.

“Quite frankly this is rather extravagant. We could have made do with something smaller.”

“Speak for yourself. If I’m going to be stuck on some floating piece of tin in the middle of the ocean, I want space.”

The demon headed out to inspect the enclosed promenade. Watching him go, Aziraphale suddenly remembered the telegraph from Gabriel in his pocket. He pulled it out to read it, stiffening as he did. Looking around for Crowley in case he had reentered from outside, he found the sitting room empty. Quickly he stuffed the telegraph in his luggage before taking it to the bedroom unoccupied by Crowley’s several trunks. Crowley had, of course, claimed the bedroom closest to the sitting room. Aziraphale would have to enter the far room by traversing both Crowley’s room and the bathroom or using the door directly into it off the corridor.

Why he brought them was a puzzle to Aziraphale. He’d just wish new clothes up from raw firmament whenever he needed them. It was probably just for show since no first-class passenger seemed to travel with less than a mountain of luggage. But it didn’t matter how much luggage any of them brought along. It was the tenth of April. They would only be aboard _Titanic_ for four days.

He headed out to check out the view on the promenade with Crowley. The demon was at one of the windows looking out over the dock full of waving crowds there to watch the large ship head out to sea. He appeared to be deep in thought. Aziraphale hoped it wasn’t about the telegram, but he pushed forward anyway.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Automobiles.”

“Automobiles? We’re on a boat and you’re thinking about those abominations?”

“We’re on a ship and I was thinking of getting one once humans improve on them a bit. It would definitely be much better than riding a horse all day just to have a sore ar . . .”

“Don’t say it,” interrupted Aziraphale who decided to go sit in one of the wicker chairs up against the wall. “I think we’ve discussed many times how hard on the buttocks horses can be. But automobiles are so noisy and smoky.”

“Harder to fall off of,” muttered Crowley as he pushed off the window and strolled over to take a seat with Aziraphale. Hell always had him ride those big black jobs when he was on official business. The kind of horse that blew fire out of its nostrils and struck sparks with its hooves. He had a difficult time staying seated on one. “I’m thinking in ten to fifteen years they’ll be good enough to consider buying one.”

“Mmm,” said the angel noncommittally.

With a blast of the horn, they were off into the open water, heading towards a town in France where a few would disembark and a few more would start their journeys. Cherbourg Aziraphale thought its name was, but he was not quite sure. It didn’t matter, really, in his mind. He wasn’t disembarking. After Cherbourg, the ship would pick up the rest of her passengers in Queenstown, Ireland. 

They sat there chatting until the chill of the Channel air drove them into the warmth of their suite. Crowley poked around in the drawers of the writing desk finding fountain pens and fine paper stashed there then inspected the false fireplace before wandering through both bedrooms with their luxurious beds and walk-in wardrobes.

“Quite nice,” he said. “I probably should have kept on a servant to make the voyage with me. It would have been more in character.”

“You never could tolerate servants for very long,” commented Aziraphale as he placed a few books he brought with him in the empty bookshelf. “Shall we go mingle with the other passengers?”

They walked down a corridor rather Spartan compared to their luxurious quarters despite its panelling and frieze concealing the electrical wiring. No one else was around. A couple of light bulbs in the ceiling sparked then went out as they passed under them.

“Really?” asked Aziraphale. “You can’t just refrain from making mischief for a week?”

“I only took out two. People can still see where they’re going.”

Reaching the Grand Staircase Aziraphale paused a moment, taking in the large glass dome with its elaborate chandelier above them and the tons of English oak making up the staircase’s levels around them. Crowley glared at the statue of the cherub holding a torch lit by electric lighting. How obnoxious was that?

“If I recall rightly, cherubs weren’t ever cute. I seem to remember wings covered in eyes or something equally terrifying,” he said quietly to Aziraphale as humans were around. “And they call Hell a horror show.”

“Crowley, please. And the cherubs are the ones with four faces.”

“That’s still a lot of eyes.”

The first-class lounge was full of passengers right now, all eager to see who else was on the ship for her maiden voyage. Crowley sized up the financial bigwigs and old money in the room, also noting the furniture style. He snickered softly to himself before elbowing Aziraphale. 

“Louis XVI style, angel,” he whispered. “Remember when that stuff was new? I recall the king it was named for losing his head. Now they find his style elegant. Ironic.”

Aziraphale gave him one of his most put-out looks before heading off to the mahogany bookshelf filled with books against one wall. So much for him being social. Crowley scanned the room for a likely target. He spotted a few notable influencers from both England and America. 

“Dark glasses inside?” a middle-aged dark-haired gentleman asked him. 

“Just a minor issue with my eyes,” Crowley replied smoothly. “But I assume there are more interesting topics to discuss than that. Anthony, Viscount Crowley.”

He extended his hand; the man grasped and shook it. “Colonel Archibald Gracie.” 

Crowley soon found himself drawn into a very boring conversation about several historical events including the American Civil War. There was nothing more tedious than having to listen to people who never lived through such events try to analyze them. But Aziraphale would like him as he had quite the knowledge of literature as well. Maybe they would get together later to discuss Oscar Wilde plays.

Finally excusing himself, Crowley moved among the first-class passengers socializing in the lounge, making small talk with several of them before approaching Aziraphale who was engaged in conversation with a man and a woman. The angel turned towards him while nodding at whatever the woman was saying to him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Crowley.

“This is Anthony Crowley, my business partner,” said Aziraphale. 

“ _Viscount_ Crowley,” added Crowley with a glare towards the angel. “Glad to make your acquaintance,” he said to the two humans.

The pair introduced themselves, but Crowley wasn’t paying that close of attention. The conversation with Gracie had bored him to tears and he wanted nothing more do to than have a few drinks and maybe do some tempting merely to amuse himself.

“Who were they?” he asked Aziraphale after they wandered off.

“John Astor and his wife Madeline. She’s in a delicate condition.”

“That’s his _wife_?” Crowley’s eyes went large in surprise. Aziraphale could see a hint of yellow over his glasses. “Robbing the cradle there. What’s he? About forty-five? Fifty? She looks barely old enough to be an adult.”

“Yes, it is quite the scandal. Oh, there’s the bugle. Half an hour until dinner,” replied Aziraphale.

“Good. Let’s go change. I’m tired of talking to these people. Hopefully, we’ll have more interesting table partners.”

“I’ll need you to stay away from the suite for a couple of hours after this,” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley at dinner later. 

He was wearing proper dinner attire if only because Crowley threatened to put a barrier of hellfire before the door if he didn’t look like he belonged in a formal dinner setting. Both of them were dressed in white tie affairs as were all the men in the first-class saloon. Crowley’s suit was more streamlined and he would have preferred the less formal black tie and waistcoat in lieu of white, but this was not the place for that sort of thing. He was going to have to cope with wearing more white than he liked just as Aziraphale was going to have to cope with donning a black jacket and trousers.

“Are you having friends over and I’m an embarrassment?” Crowley asked as they were served dessert.

“Not at all. Gabriel has an update for me.” Aziraphale delicately ate a portion of his éclair. “I personally would rather not be caught consorting with the Enemy, but if you want to stick around and risk a smiting, I’m sure I could find some plausible excuse as to why you’re on this ship in my accommodations and save my own skin.” 

“Well, if you’re going to put it that way,” Crowley replied, turning back to his other dinner partner to spread yet another piece of gossip. “I’m sorry about that interruption. I honestly don’t know why they would allow such a thing. It seems like quite the embarrassment and I heard . . .”

His opinion the elite on this floating piece of opulence was not very high. He considered them selfish vapid bastards only interested in elevating their own status while sniping at those deemed less worthy. He found some amusement in turning these jackals against each other, especially since they were in a nice enclosed space and couldn’t really escape each other. In a couple of days, a few of the women wouldn’t be speaking to one another and a couple of the younger hotheads among the men would almost come to blows in the gym. 

After dinner, he retired to the smoking room with most of the men to partake of some of the finer brandies there while listening to the blowhards brag about their exploits. Hell would love these people . . . the way they stepped all over the financially less fortunate to increase their own wealth. At least he was gathering more rumour fodder as he talked and laughed in the smoky air, a drink in his hand. 

“So,” said a jovial man who had yet to take more than one puff on his cigar. “Lord Crowley, is it?”

“Not really. I’m Hell’s field agent,” Crowley replied, knowing that whatever he said about his demonic origins would slide right off their little mortal brains. “I’m here to up the human misery stakes in whatever creative ways possible I can come up with, but you buggers are really good at doing that to yourselves without much help from me.”

“Oh,” replied the man going glassy-eyed for a moment or two. “So you invested the family money in textiles. Smart move. I hear Egyptian cotton has really taken off.”

“Oh, yes, it has,” replied Crowley without missing a beat. “I stand to make another fortune.”

He smiled in a serpentine fashion and took another sip of his brandy.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale was nervously pacing the suite’s sitting room awaiting Gabriel’s arrival. Finally deciding wearing a path in the expensive carpet was not the best of moves, he grabbed a book to read on one of the plush sofas. It wasn’t long before a soft blue light shone down from above, Gabriel appearing as it disappeared.

He smoothed down the lapels on his grey lounge suit coat and straightened his tie before smiling at Aziraphale who had stood up upon his arrival. 

“Aziraphale,” he said briskly. “I just wanted to give you an update on how things are going. It looks like they’re still convinced to steam right through as fast as possible. It’ll put them in contact with that ice field. Umm, it looks like the ship will intersect with an iceberg in three nights maybe four. Be prepared. You’re authorized to use a miracle to make it happen if the humans driving this ship change course or slow down. Put that iceberg in front of the ship if you have to, witness what you can, and get yourself out, ok?”

“Yes,” replied Aziraphale with a flustered smile. “But I still don’t understand why we need to sink an entire ship over the comments of one man.”

“And you don’t have to,” answered Gabriel with a broad smile. “Just get your assignment completed and you can go home to . . .” The Archangel grasped for the name of Aziraphale’s place of residence.

“London,” supplied the Principality.

“Yes, that’s it.” He paused a moment. “Why do I keep getting a sense that evil’s around here somewhere?”

“You are on a ship full of wealthy industrialists,” replied Aziraphale nervously putting his hands behind his back and rocking a little on his heels. “That’ll do it, I assume.”

“Oh. Yes. I didn’t think of that.” He clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder. “You’re doing a fine job down here. Keep up the good work.”

And he was gone. Aziraphale sat down both relieved his boss was gone and disturbed over this turn of events he was forced to be a part of. He was going to have to say something to Crowley, and soon. They were quickly running out of time. 

Several hours later while he was reading, Crowley stumbled in drunk. “Hey ‘Ziraphale. We should try the Turkish bath tomorrow, whaddaya say?”

“If it is anything like the baths of Ancient Rome, no thank you,” replied Aziraphale, turning a page.

“Naaaaah,” slurred Crowley, swaying slightly as he stood there. “You keep on your . . . thingys . . . what are they called again? And you can wrap up in a towel. Don’t be a prude. I’m going to bed now. ‘Night.”

“I’ll pass on the bath. You’d better sober up before you go to bed, my dear boy.”

“Then I won’t be able to get to sleep. Not like I can’t cure a headache.” He meandered through the bathroom into Aziraphale’s bedroom only to reappear a moment later and stumble into his own to pass out on the bed.

Aziraphale watched him with slight amusement then quickly sobered. He didn’t _have_ to tell Crowley. He could always say his mission was in America and this was the quickest way to go without using a miracle. He got up to shut Crowley’s bedroom door. Sighing, he went back to his book.

He would have never invited Crowley along had he known the mission he was expected to complete before boarding the ship.


	2. 11 April 1912

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale comes clean about his mission and Crowley expresses his own opinion on Heaven's arrogance.

Morning came too damn early for Crowley as he awoke to a nauseous feeling and a splitting headache. Groaning, he rolled over, ridding his human body of any physical hangover symptoms. Sitting up he checked to make sure the bedroom door was closed before getting out of bed. He still felt like death warmed over and probably looked like it, too. He didn’t like to be seen by Aziraphale in such a state. Honestly, he’d rather have another look at the Spanish Inquisition than endure a lecture on how he should have just sobered up right then and there before going to sleep. Another quick demonic miracle took care of the dark circles under his eyes and other signs of his drinking to excess last night.

He got dressed in a lounge suit he wished up exiting the bedroom while still tying his tie. Aziraphale looked like he hadn’t moved from the spot he was in when Crowley wandered back in drunk last night. He stood there looking at him for a moment. How long could one person hold still?

“You ready? People are going to think we’re a little strange if we start skipping meals. I thought the whole point was to blend in with the humans.”

“Hmmm?” Aziraphale looked up. “Oh. Yes. Breakfast does sound good. And for lunch, want to try the À la Carte Restaurant? I hear it’s supposed to be a lot like the Ritz.”

“Whatever you want, angel. I’m not picky.”

“If that was the case you would have booked third-class accommodations instead of a Parlour Suite,” replied Aziraphale as he carefully put a bookmark on the page he was reading and got up to join Crowley.

“You know what I mean,” sighed the demon. 

They walked in silence for a while until they reached the staircase. Heading down it, Crowley stopped to inspect the elaborate clock and its carvings located on the main landing. Two winged figures surrounded the clock itself. He shook his head before starting down the stairs again, changing the time the clock showed forward by half an hour with a thought.

“They don’t think it’s classical if they can’t throw in some winged beings,” he muttered. “By the way, what did old Gabriel want?”

“Just to pass on more information about my mission.”

“Oh? Care to share?”

Aziraphale remained silent.

“Hey, I told you about that pandemic Hastur planned that your people were able to stop. You owe me something in return for that,” Crowley reminded him.

“Ok, but I need to tell you in private. Not around the humans,” Aziraphale said quietly in return.

“All right.”

All through breakfast Aziraphale seemed rather distracted. He gazed out at the other diners as he pushed the remains of his omelette around his plate. The angel had a plate full of eggs and meats he had eaten about three-fourths of. Crowley just watched him being distracted as he spread black currant jam on a scone. They had the table alone this time, the dining saloon being rather empty. That suited Crowley just fine since he really wanted to know what was putting Aziraphale off breakfast. It wasn’t like him to leave food on a plate. 

“So, what’s up?” Crowley asked, nibbling his scone. “Don’t tell me you’re getting seasick.”

“I’m not.” Aziraphale was not yet ready to admit to him that this ship’s time was going to run out rather soon along with the lives of many of its passengers. 

“Then what?”

“I’m just not happy having to go to America, that’s all,” replied Aziraphale. “They’re so uncivilized there.”

Crowley stared at him. “I don’t think that’s it at all. I’ve known you for almost six thousand years now. You’re holding something back. If you’re not going to spill it, then I’ll find ways to get it out of you.”

Aziraphale just smiled wanly at him.

Later that afternoon he found himself wearing very little and wrapped in a towel sitting in a hot dry room beside a demon who wasn’t sweating even though the temperatures felt near broiling. They were alone and Aziraphale suspected that was Crowley’s doing. He did appreciate that as he was uncomfortable enough sitting around in what amounted to undergarments with a being he had known since Earth’s beginnings let alone complete strangers. 

Right now Aziraphale was having trouble even looking at the demon sitting there as if it was no big deal to be exposing more bare skin than he was covering. But Crowley’s understanding of modesty didn’t go beyond “there are certain body parts you don’t expose in certain situations if you want to blend in with the humans” and even that had taken some time to sink in. It had been a fight to get him to cover up properly after he migrated to Jerusalem from Ancient Egypt where he spent about twenty years running around in nothing more than a _shendyt_.

“Why am I here?” the angel asked with a sigh. He stared at his own bare feet while Crowley snorted at him.

“Because you deserve it for holding out on me,” replied Crowley. “Where did you pick up this aversion to skin? You spent about two years guarding Eden before I showed up. It’s not those two wore a stitch of clothing.”

“Times change,” replied Aziraphale, recalling the row in Jerusalem when he first tried to get Crowley to put a robe on before he landed himself in trouble. “You should know that very well by now.”

“For humans. They seem to be really good at developing taboos. Clothing’s for protection, yet they’ve managed to turn it into a means to control people through that whole modesty idea. It shouldn’t matter that much to you,” Crowley paused. “Come to think of it, I wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing either the first time we met.”

“You were a snake!” huffed Aziraphale before turning his back on him. He very much wanted to just get up and leave at this point.

“But you’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” Crowley had a good laugh at that, much to Aziraphale’s annoyance.

“That’s enough, Crowley.” Aziraphale stood up. “What’s the next room?”

“It’s the cooling room. There’s a pool to get into first then you relax for a while in the chairs. After that we can get a massage.”

“I would really rather not.”

“Oh, live a little.” 

They moved on, Aziraphale reluctantly removing his towel, despite not being naked under it, to immerse himself in the cool water of the pool. He about jumped out of his skin. “Heavens, that’s cold!”

“That’s the point.” Crowley had slid in, soaking for a bit before getting out to dry himself and relax in one of the chaise lounges. “Are you going to tell me what’s up now that I’ve put you through this torture? I have other things planned if you’re going to keep holding your tongue.”

“Back in the suite I will,” sighed Aziraphale, defeated. Crowley would just keep picking at him and making him do things he didn’t want to until he cracked anyway.

They finished up, Crowley enjoying his massage while Aziraphale begged off, returning to the suite afterwards. But it did leave the demon relaxed and in a good mood; he managed to walk back to their quarters without causing minor trouble. Maybe now was the best time to tell him everything. It’s not like it was Aziraphale’s fault. He was an angel. He had to follow orders even if they were unpleasant ones. Plus he didn’t find out exactly was his mission was until after they boarded, anyway. 

Crowley had managed to procure a rather nice cognac that he poured himself a glass of before he and Aziraphale sat down to talk in the sitting room

“Your mission’s not in America is it?” he said as he sat down in a chair across from the couch where Aziraphale had taken a seat. 

The angel looked miserable. “I was initially told it I had a mission on the ship and to await a telegram. The telegram said Gabriel would come to fill me in on what was going on. And . . .” he gave a fretful smile. “They’re going to sink the ship, that’s all. I’m just supposed to witness it. Help it along if we don’t end up hitting an iceberg.”

“They’re going to _what_?”

“Rumours are the captain said the even God Herself couldn’t sink the ship, so you know what has to happen.”

“No, it doesn’t. Those wankers upstairs can learn what hyperbole is.” Crowley was furious. “So, what is it with your lot and drowning people? Because people _will_ drown. And you know exactly who will? The women and children in steerage because the first-class arseholes will take the lifeboats for themselves.”

He drank down his cognac like it was a glass of water. Aziraphale shifted on the couch a little, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

“You know I’m not ranked high enough make policy decisions. All I can do is follow orders.”

“Don’t give me that shit! Are you going to be out there when the time comes helping get people on lifeboats? You know, doing what’s right? Or are you going to just follow orders and witness the carnage?” 

Crowley stood up, marching angrily to the door leading to the promenade. Yanking it open, he stepped out, unfurling his wings. Aziraphale had followed him in a panic.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving, angel. I’m not to going stay here to witness your side kill more innocents. Even _I_ don’t have the stomach for that, although apparently _you_ do.”

“You can’t just leave! It’s still light out; you’ll be _seen_!”

“Watch me.” Crowley vanished enough of a portion of the outer wall that he could easily leave.

“Crowley, please . . .”

“Please _what_?”

“Stay. Help me get as many on the lifeboats as possible.” 

“I don’t do good deeds. That’s _your_ job.” But he had folded his wings in and put the wall back.

Seeing things starting to go his direction, Aziraphale dangled some bait. “We do have the Arrangement. I’ll owe you double if you help me out.” 

The eyes behind the dark glasses took on a calculating look. “And you’ll give me a bottle of that 1900 Château Margaux I know you have stashed away in your backroom.”

Aziraphale sighed at having to part with one of those. He only had three bottles and that vintage was being declared the best wine produced in about a century. “If I must. It’s a deal.” 

It hurt but was human life at stake here. Chances were pretty high they would end up drinking the bottle together, anyway. He held out his hand. Crowley grasped and shook it. 

“Just don’t expect everything to be repaired between us because I came around to your idea.”

Brusquely, the demon strode back into the suite to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. The angel did not see him again until dinner and even then, Crowley gave him the silent treatment, choosing to speak only to the man seated next to and the woman across from him. After dinner, he got into some amusing drunken conversation with some of the younger first-class men in the smoking room while Aziraphale had a nice conversation with Col. Gracie about some literary interests they both shared before excusing himself an hour later to head back to the suite. 

Even with exhaust fans, the smoking room’s air didn’t stay clear for long, making him wonder if that was a little irritant caused by the ship’s resident demon. He noticed Crowley sitting across the room laughing at one of his conversation partner’s jokes with a cigar in one hand and a brandy in the other, but Crowley didn’t look his direction as he exited.

Aziraphale was sitting out on the promenade enjoying the cold but beautiful night when Crowley finally dragged himself in, heading immediately to his bedroom without checking to see if Aziraphale was in the suite somewhere. The angel followed him to his bedroom door, which was closed.

Knocking on it he asked, “Crowley can we talk? Please? This isn’t my fault and we’ll get people off this ship. I think we can save quite a few.”

His request was met with silence. He would have liked to stretch out on his own bed to do a little reading, but since his bedroom was the far one and required either going through Crowley’s room and the bathroom, which was not advisable at this time or entering it through the door directly into it off the corridor, he decided it was much less trouble to just stay in the sitting room. Instead, he got a glass and some wine to enjoy out of the liquor cabinet he was very sure didn’t originally come with the suite and settled in for the night.

Sometimes it was difficult to get the demon to understand that he had no control over what his bosses wanted him to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lounge suit is just what they called what we could consider an everyday suit back then to distinguish it from more formal attire, like the white tie dress the first class men on _Titanic_ wore to dinner. A lounge suit was about as informal as one got in the upper classes. In the working classes, a lounge suit would be a man's Sunday best.
> 
> Apologies to my American readers for Aziraphale's opinion of the U.S., but it's implied in the book during the scene where he's looking for a human in London to possess, that he Has Views on both American and Australia.


	3. 12 April 1912

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Crowley?” he asked as he heard a small splash. “What are you doing out here?”_
> 
> _“Hello, angel.” The demon flung a smallish round disk off into the ocean. “Are you going to talk to me now?”_
> 
> _“I don’t know. Are you talking to me?”_
> 
> An angel and a demon make-up, get extremely drunk and make a new friend.

Sometimes pulling himself out of a book he was engrossed in was a little like waking up from slumber. It took Aziraphale a while to readjust to the real world and quick passage of time. He had actually tried to sleep a couple of times upon the suggestion of Crowley when he had been out doing missions and in accommodations that actually had beds, but he had just ended up lying there in the dark wondering what he was supposed to do next. Sleep would remain solely Crowley’s realm until further notice.

He was just stretching his legs on the promenade deck after sitting still for hours, except to turn pages, of course, when he heard the demon moving around the suite. Opening the door, he caught a glimpse of Crowley holding his dark glasses in one hand, serpentine eyes looking up with surprise at the sound. He sneered slightly before setting the glasses on his face and storming out the door into the corridor. 

Aziraphale got himself dressed, resigned to breakfast alone, but at the table, he did have a nice conversation with a couple of members of the peerage, the Duff-Gordons. The husband was a rather quiet fellow and the wife was a fashion designer who had designed for many well-known people from the gentry to authors, including Oscar Wilde. They quickly fell into conversation about the poets and playwrights, Aziraphale giving his opinions on the lives and works of some of his favourites and some he didn't care as much for. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Crowley seated at a table with a few of the same younger men he was conversing with last night in the smoking room. What was that demon up to? Aziraphale was noticed, Crowley’s smile sliding off his face as he turned so his back was to the angel. 

He accosted Crowley after breakfast. “What are you playing at?”

“What does it matter?” Crowley increased his stride.

“Well, everyone at my table was complaining how the food was cold and the tea tasted terrible but my breakfast seemed perfectly fine,” hissed Aziraphale. “You can’t leave people alone for what little time this ship has left?”

“I’m not messing around with second-class or steerage. Just the upper crust,” Crowley replied. “Have you talked to these people? _Really_ talked to them. A lot of them are horrible individuals. I’m just exacting some petty revenge.”

“What about the young men you’re engaged with lately?”

“Just encouraging one of them to flirt with the wrong girl. Nothing big. There’ll be words, everyone involved will take sides, bad moods will occur and the pass-on effects will help my quotas with Hell. I don’t see the problem here.” Crowley stopped in front of the suite’s door after once again making the two light bulbs burn out in the corridor. “I hear they’re having shuffleboard up on the promenade deck. Go enjoy yourself while you can, but I’d recommend against making friends because they might not be alive in a few more days.”

Angry, Aziraphale stormed off. Crowley entered the suite to spend an hour alone between lying on his bed and sitting on the private deck before heading back out to the gathering areas before lunch. He caused a few more minor skirmishes between passengers in the lounge then went up to the first-class promenade deck to see how the games are going. 

They seem to have finished up as the deck was filled only with those engaging in idle activities. Some sat in the wicker chairs along the wall talking. Others walked or looked out over the ocean. A few children were out with their parents, rolling hoops they chased down the deck, laughing as they went.

Aziraphale was enjoying a stroll around the deck with Isidor Strauss, owner of a department store, whatever that was, in New York City and his wife Ida. They were a lovely older couple in their sixties with many stories to tell. Isidor had just retold one from his time serving as some kind of elected official. Aziraphale’s grasp of governmental systems was tenuous at best, but he did enjoy the tale.

“We exchanged letters every day when I had to be gone on governmental business,” Isidor was saying. “There’s something to be said about marrying for love instead of that arranged thing those aristocrats do.”

Ida nodded in agreement. “Is there anyone special in your life?” she asked Aziraphale.

“Oh . . . no,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe in the future, though. There just might be a girl out there who is willing to put up with my enormous book collection.” He had learned long ago humans in love enjoyed hearing about other humans in love to the point of asking about it. Saying he had hope of finding someone someday seemed to usually placate them.

They strolled on until he saw Crowley appear and excused himself because he was in no mood to speak with him just yet after that outburst after breakfast. He retired to the reading and writing room where he knew the demon would not set foot.

Aziraphale discreetly conjured a book from the suite (it barely counted as a miracle), found a comfortable chair and sat down. As angry as he was at Crowley for his comments, he still felt the need to try to make amends with him. But not yet. He didn’t need Crowley thinking he was crawling back to him. Forcing himself to concentrate, he opened his book and lost himself in it for a few hours. 

Finally putting the book aside he searched every room where passengers gathered but didn’t find any sign of the demon. Giving up, he decided to check the suite. It was shortly before lunch, so hopefully he could make amends there if nothing else. Opening the door, he noticed that the door to the promenade was open. Peering out, he saw a black figure leaning against a window that had been cranked open.

“Crowley?” he asked as he heard a small splash. “What are you doing out here?”

“Hello, angel.” The demon flung a smallish round disk off into the ocean. “Are you going to talk to me now?”

“I don’t know. Are you talking to me?” There was another splash. “Are those shuffleboard pucks?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well . . . yes . . . it’s hard to play without them.”

“There are plenty left.” Crowley tossed another into the water. “I think I skipped that one.”

“Shall we go to lunch? At the Restaurant?”

“I guess. I’m not really hungry.”

“I think we can skip one meal. Nobody will notice that. We can just stay in here and have some cognac if you wish. Shall we?” Aziraphale gestured to the door.

Crowley headed in followed by the angel who took the cognac out of the cabinet it was in and brought it with two glasses to the sitting-room table. They filled their glasses then proceeded to get roaring drunk, spending the afternoon too intoxicated to even think of the ship’s fate.

“How many legs does an octopus have again?” Aziraphale asked after they had drunk through the cognac and moved on to the whisky Crowley conjured from the smoking room’s bar. 

“I dunno . . .” Crowley was only upright by virtue of the couch arm and back he leaned against at this point. “Four? Maybe five?”

“Ok.” Aziraphale processed this. “I was thinking any more and it would be hard for them to walk on the beach like they do.”

“Naah. Don’t walk on the beach. They’re sea animals. They use those suckers on their legs to attach to ships an’ hitch a ride.”

“Makes sense.” Aziraphale paused. “Why haven’t we seen any, then?”

It only went downhill from there.

With a groan, Aziraphale raised his head from the table. It had been centuries since he drank until he passed out. Normally he and Crowley stopped to sober up long before the alcohol caused that to occur. Crowley looked at him from the couch where he was reading a newspaper. 

“Good morning, sunshine. When was the last time you were unconscious?” Crowley turned a page. “Do you need me to take care of that hangover so Gabriel doesn’t send you another rude note?”

“Yes, please.”

The sound of snapping fingers made him wince before the headache and other uncomfortable symptoms were gone. “Thank you. Where did you get a newspaper?”

“They have a printing press on board don’t you know? Get the news each day through the wireless when they’re not busy sending and receiving vapid telegrams for the first-class passengers,” replied Crowley sarcastically. “I’m a demon with the ability to wish up whatever I want. How do you think I got it?”

“I am not remotely in the mood, serpent,” groused Aziraphale.

“Then don’t ask stupid questions.”

Aziraphale fished out his pocket watch. “Well, I see we missed dinner, too.”

“The Restaurant’s still open if you want something.”

“I hear they serve quail. I haven’t had that in a while.” The angel thought it over a moment. “Yes, let’s do that. Just give me a moment to get changed into dinner clothes.”

Aziraphale headed for his mostly unused bedroom. Crowley changed clothes with a thought, adjusting his tie slightly as he waited. It didn’t take the angel long to reappear but by then the demon had his nose back in his newspaper.

“Ready?” Aziraphale asked to get his attention.

“Yes.” Crowley stood up, gesturing towards the door.

The light bulbs had once again been replaced in the corridor. Aziraphale glared at the demon who gave him a rather innocent look considering his species.

“What?”

“Leave them alone. Someone has to replace them and it’s not the passengers with suites on this deck who are doing that.”

“All right, already. I have more amusing diversions in the works anyway. Let’s go eat.”

“Wait, do we need reservations?” asked Aziraphale.

“I don’t,” replied Crowley, who kept walking without bothering to check if Aziraphale was following behind. “C’mon, angel.”

It was decorated very similarly to the Ritz now that they finally managed to visit it. Miraculously, the crowded place had one table open where they were promptly seated. Other diners in their table’s area looked up as the maître d’ sat them. 

A woman in her forties entered immediately after them, waving off the maître d’ to sit with them at their table. They both rose as she approached and reseated themselves when she took one of the two empty chairs.

“Hello, boys. Margaret Brown. It’s nice to be able to finally get to talk to you. Mr. Fell, glad to make your acquaintance. Lord Crowley, rumour has it you’re a troublemaker, running off at the mouth unlike most of the peerage.”

“Oh, what does rumour know, Mrs. Brown?” asked Crowley looking up from his menu.

“Rumour knows plenty, young man,” she replied after exchanging pleasantries with Aziraphale. “Mr. Fell, your business partner here is getting up to some kind of mischief with the more rash youngsters on this ship.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “I’m well aware of his dealings and he should know better. He’s older than he looks.”

Crowley, perpetually in his late twenties, glared at him while Margaret laughed until the waiter interrupted them then to take their orders. Aziraphale finally was able to get his quail along with plover’s eggs, fresh fruit and other delicacies not found in the dining saloon. Hothouses might have taken off during the Victorian Age, but Crowley was still impressed they were able to get enough fruit at just the right ripeness to serve even in this intimate restaurant for a week’s journey. He had his own conservatory at the terraced house he currently resided in, but he kept to exotic species of houseplant, not fruit trees. He had hired a gardener to take care of them during his absence if only because it would gall his ego to come home to dead foliage.

Aziraphale and Crowley had quite the enjoyable dinner with their unexpected guest. Margaret Brown might have been a socialite and a first-class passenger, but she and her husband were poor before he struck it rich as a mining engineer who earned stock in the company he worked for after he found a way to get unreachable gold ore out of one of their mines. She was colourful, opinionated and Crowley immediately liked her, although Aziraphale remained unsure after she spoke ill of the socialites back in her hometown who snubbed her for her modest background.

“C’mon, Aziraphale,” Crowley said after dinner. “Her calling another socialite the biggest snob in Denver is one of the funniest things I’ve heard on this ship. And her attitude . . . I like anyone who says she doesn’t give a damn what the newspapers write about her.”

“Well, her charity work _is_ a breath of fresh air for this crowd. It’s lovely she does it. It just goes to show there’s goodness in everyone. Even in the difficult ones,” Aziraphale replied.

“I’m going to pretend you’re not making hints towards me,” said Crowley as they walked to the reception room. “Changing subjects, the Restaurant was quite good. I vote we do lunch and dinner there every night until this floating death trap sinks.”

Aziraphale agreed, ignoring Crowley’s reference to the ship’s eventual demise. 

They spent what was left of the evening engaging in small talk with those passengers who were in the reception room. Margaret showed up to spend much of the evening in conversation with Crowley, whom she told to address her as Maggie. Aziraphale was amused. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Anthony. You, too, Mr. Fell,” she said and they parted ways to head back to their rooms for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend thought Margaret Brown would take a liking to Crowley so I wrote her in. She was known as "Maggie" while she was alive, never "Molly."


	4. 13 April 1912

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale begins to get anxious about the inevitable and it’s Crowley to the rescue with a bit of comfort. Afterwards, the two explore the ship, formulating plans to get people to the lifeboats. Keeping up appearances with the other passengers becomes harder with the realization they only have a day or two before everything goes to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long-ass chapter, but I didn't feel right cutting a lot out of it.

Aziraphale was quiet on the way back, going to his bedroom when they got there to lie on the bed staring at the ceiling. Crowley had a nightcap or two before knocking on the open door to the angel’s room. Aziraphale looked up at him.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes.”

“Thinking about it?”

“I am.”

Crowley went to the other side of the large bed and lay down on it, staring up at the ceiling as well. Aziraphale had used a small miracle to project the night sky on it and was stargazing from the comfort of his own bedroom. The demon scanned the sky, finding the North Star and identifying constellations from there. 

“I think I made that one,” he muttered.

“What?” asked Aziraphale, puzzled.

“Nothing,” Crowley replied quietly. “You know, we can go outside and look at the real stars.”

“I think I’d just rather stay in here.”

“Your choice, angel. It feels like we’re just sitting here waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not a new experience for us, but still an unwanted one. ”

“I know. But that’s our job, isn’t it? Go somewhere, wait for an event to happen and influence it how we’re told to,” Aziraphale said. 

“I like it better when Hell forgets I’m up here.” It was a frequent enough occurrence, but if the powers-that-be forgot about him entirely, Crowley wouldn’t mourn the loss.

Aziraphale laughed at that. “You would.”

“Know anything when this thing is going down? Did Heaven give you a timeline?”

“Next day or two at my best guess.”

“I think I’ll do some reconnaissance. It should be dark enough now nobody’ll notice me,” Crowley said, getting up. “I’d invite you along, but those white wings are sure to stand out, even in this dark.”

“I don’t have your night vision, either. Do be careful out there. Don’t be seen.”

“I won’t.” He walked out, pausing long enough to do some quick calculations on speed and direction based on information gleaned on talking to officers and passengers. Scribbling it down on the paper found in the desk in the sitting room, he figured out the area the ship would be in in about a day. It was midnight right now. He didn’t expect to see icebergs there yet, but he figured he might find evidence of some prime suspects nearby. 

He went to his room for his woollen overcoat then walked out onto their private promenade deck. Crowley again vanished enough of the wall to exit, putting it back once he left the ship. Quietly gliding into the air, his swift wingbeats took him high enough to survey the ocean below. 

He looked down on a glass-like ocean bereft of ice. He hovered there a moment, thinking.

“Currents . . . currents . . . Oh, yes, west to east around here.”

Reorienting himself, he transported himself about half a day’s journey west towards Greenland, which if he recalled correctly, was a source of icebergs. The chill of the air numbed his face and hands, causing Crowley to conjure up a pair of gloves for himself. He had quite a ways to fly, heading steadily west as he kept a lookout for anything in the water below. Several hours into his trip, he found an icefield. 

Diving down, he examined the icebergs that made it up. They were immense. Definitely of the size that could take out a ship even as big as _Titanic_. Tentatively, he landed on a larger one, peering over the side to see the huge mass of it that lurked beneath the water. Breaking a small piece off a narrow jagged portion of it, he transported back to the ship.

Aziraphale looked up from his book as Crowley entered the sitting room. He had moved there from the bedroom to await the demon about a half an hour after he departed. Crowley walked in, glossy black wings folded behind him, the tips of his primaries brushing the floor. He absent-mindedly looked at them after he almost shut the large appendages in the door. 

“Forget something?” Aziraphale asked, amused, watching Crowley awkwardly hold out a wing to brush down feathers he accidentally ruffled in his near-accident.

“Yeah, that I brought you back something.” His wings disappeared back into the ethereal plane as he dug in his pocket for the piece of ice he brought back. He handed it to Aziraphale. “Don’t say I never get you anything nice.”

“And here I totally forgot to get you something in return,” replied Aziraphale examining the hard piece of ice kept cold with Crowley’s unconscious wish that his pocket remain dry. “So this is what we’re dealing with? Frozen water strong enough to rip a hole in metal?”

“Yep.”

“That’s impossible. It’s going to fall to me,” said Aziraphale gloomily, vanishing the piece of ice. “I’m going to have to do that miracle Gabriel ordered me to do to make sure everything goes to plan. My actions will doom people to death.”

“No, you won’t. Let things take their course. I saw icebergs out there the size of buildings all made of ice as hard as anything,” replied Crowley. “You just tell Gabriel you made investigations instead of me if the ship survives and you thought all that ice was as hard as diamonds, therefore, more than capable of sinking it.” 

“But that would mean lying to him.”

“Get off your high horse. I know you don’t always tell the truth. You certainly don’t write up reports to Head Office telling them I do the occasional job for you.” Crowley went to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses. 

“Please . . .” Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“You should really try to get some sleep,” suggested Crowley as he handed Aziraphale a glass of brandy.

“I don’t need sleep. It is not like you do, either.” Aziraphale took a sip. “I do not understand what you see in it.”

“It’s a great way to kill eight to ten hours a night. And dreams are amazing. Take some getting used to, but it’s quite something what your own mind can come up with when left to its own devices.”

“It’s amazing what you can come up with when left to your own devices,” muttered Aziraphale, but Crowley didn’t seem to hear him, thank goodness. He fidgeted, a sign that he was worrying and needed something to take his mind off of it. 

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to do now that it was late; everything on the ship was closed for the night, but human limitations never stopped Crowley. “We should check out the ship. We’re going to need to know where we’re going and what we’re doing when everything starts falling apart.”

"Crowley, we can't be wandering around. Everything's closed!"

"Nobody's going to find out."

“I guess it’s better than drinking. That seems rather disrespectful in light of future events.”

“It’s either explore or hang around here all night. If we do that, I’m going to end up locking you out on the promenade deck. You’ll just get to that point that you annoy me and leave me no choice.”

“Crowley, this is an uncomfortable situation. You made your own scathing social commentary on it just a day or two ago. I don’t understand why I cannot be nervous right now.”

The demon nodded. “Yes, I did. But I realize getting all worked up about it right before chaos reigns supreme around here is probably not the best idea.”

“Maybe in a while. I think I’ll try a hot bath. I kind of feel guilty not even using the bathroom and it’s been a while since I soaked in one.”

“Like say Rome? The bath in my _domus_?” asked Crowley.

“Pretty much. I remember that thing being huge. A legion could have bathed in there.”

“No legions, but I did hear the previous owners had an orgy or two.”

“Crowley!”

“I’m joking. Just trying to lighten things up. Go take your bath. I’ll wait to start exploring until you’re done. At least this time you’re not kicking me out of my own atrium because you require privacy.”

He conjured up a newspaper to read while he waited, seating himself on the couch, but ended up falling asleep waiting for the angel to get done. He woke up to find Aziraphale sitting in a chair in his shirtsleeves with a dressing gown thrown over himself looking rather worried.

“What if I have to put the iceberg in the ship’s path?” Aziraphale was muttering to himself. “Just like Heaven, expecting me to do it. Gabriel can’t come down here and get his hands dirty, can he? No, he’s just going to force me to cause a disaster.”

“You won’t have to,” replied Crowley anyway, sitting up to stretch. “We already discussed this. Nobody’s ever going to know you didn’t do a damn thing on purpose if you claim you thought everything was going according to plan. Nobody up there suspects you’re capable of any amount of subterfuge.”

“I can’t even sit here and have a nice sulk without your commentary. Can’t you just let me martyr myself in peace?”

“The last time you were martyred was in 1216 and I’m still really sorry about that whole debacle. But I did get you out before you burned to death. And Gabriel was none the wiser.”

“Can we not talk about that?” snapped Aziraphale, reaching for his still-full glass of brandy. Almost being burned at the stake was still a sore spot, even nearly seven hundred years later. His favourite tunic had suffered smoke damage.

“C’mon. I was serious. Let’s not sit here drinking. That was stupid of me to get stuff out.” Crowley rose to his feet, taking the glass from Aziraphale’s hand. “You’re just going to get all morose now if you get drunk. Let’s explore this ship. Get your coat on.”

They headed out the corridors, using whichever ones they wanted, unseen by the stewards and not restricted to those reserved for the passengers of each class. Eventually, they ended up wandering through the second class public rooms, Crowley first finding the second class smoking room where he raided the bar curious about the quality of cigars and liquor offered. The selection was not bad but not as fine as that offered in first class, of course. He pocketed a few of the cigars on principle when Aziraphale was not looking. The angel just gave the room a cursory look before wanting to leave.

It was different when Aziraphale found their library, noting it was not too bad even though it lacked the book selection of the first-class facilities. He flipped through a few examples noting some titles he needed to get his hands on. This time it was Crowley who was not that interested in hanging around too long. 

“I thought we were here to figure out this ship, not read books,” said Crowley, looking out into the corridor. “I think second class accommodations are mostly on D and E Deck, but I may be wrong. Not too hard for them to get to the lifeboats.”

Aziraphale put the book he was holding back and they moved on. They did find the second class cabins on D through F Decks and moved on to locate the third-class areas. 

“On to steerage, then,” he said, following Crowley out.

Wandering through the corridors they eventually found the cabins for single women and families in the stern. Single men were housed elsewhere because it was not proper to have their cabins near those of single women. Aziraphale looked worried. 

“These are quite far from the lifeboats,” he said to Crowley. “Will people make it?”

“We’ll just have to guide them up to the decks if needs be,” replied Crowley. “We can do this. Don’t get depressed on me now. Remember, you got me involved, angel.”

“I know.”

They walked on, eventually finding the third class open space with its benches along one wall and a piano over against another. Crowley pressed a few random keys on it, the notes echoing through the empty room. Aziraphale gave him a cross look.

“Would you not? I really do not want to get caught.”

“We won’t. I believe there are more cabins in the bow area.”

To the bow they went, getting slightly lost and ending up in the mailroom. Crowley eyed the many bags of mail, itching to pull letters from them to open and read. Aziraphale must have sensed it because he grabbed the demon’s arm, escorting him from the room.

“Hey!”

“You do not need to snoop in other people’s mail.”

They left to continue their exploring, late night sliding into early morning as they wandered through the corridors checking out every room they came across. 

Finally, they found the corridors along which were the last of the third-class cabins, noting that there were some crew cabins in the areas they passed through as well. Eventually, they wound their way back around, down a few decks and were walking through corridors that gave way to cargo holds, Crowley conjuring a floating light that followed them to see better by. The first one they came across was full of food. Crowley inspected one of the many crates stacked neatly on the far side of the immense room.

“Huh, nothing but melons. Odd to just come across that.”

“Well, they do have to serve meals on ships, you know.”

“Still odd to find a stack of them. Hungry?”

Aziraphale gave him an annoyed look. “Shall we move on?”

The next room was also a cargo hold, only this time it contained other kinds of goods besides foodstuffs for the galleys. Carefully stacked crates filled it with a particularly large one near the centre attracting Crowley’s attention. He approached it, reading the words painted on one of its sides.

“Renault.”

“What?” asked Aziraphale.

“A French carmaker,” Crowley replied. “Oh, I have to see this.” 

He vanished the side of the crate to peer inside, the floating light bobbing above him. Excitedly he looked at the red car with white tires, running his hands over the steering wheel of the open driver’s seat. Behind it, the passenger compartment had a roof and windows. This was a car meant to be driven by a chauffeur. 

“Gorgeous, but I’d rather have one that’s enclosed. I don’t plan on ever employing a chauffeur and I’m certainly not going to want to be exposed to the rainy weather we get in London. What do you think?”

“I think they’re rather noisy and smoky,” replied the angel. “Like I told you before.” 

“But you don’t like having to ride horses any more than I do.”

“No, but Hansom cabs get us around just fine.” Aziraphale had come over to inspect the vehicle as well, still unimpressed by it.

“Angel, those are quickly getting replaced by Taximeter Cars.”

Aziraphale decided not to argue the point. He was not ready to accept cars overtaking horses and carriages as the standard of transportation and would continue to use Hansom cabs until motorized taxis took over the city.

Crowley stepped down off of the car’s running boards so he could put the crate back together. The car disappeared behind a wall of wood once again. The two of them walked back out into the corridors where Crowley stopped to take stock of their position in the ship, poking around a little while Aziraphale waited patiently. 

“Let’s check lifeboats,” Crowley said upon returning. He used a demonic miracle to get them to the Boat Deck. 

Recovering from a bit of disorientation since Crowley didn’t warn him, Aziraphale shook off a slight feeling of vertigo before looking around. “Where are we?”

“Second class promenade.” Crowley was eyeing the lifeboats, some papers in his hands. “It says here each lifeboat can hold sixty-five people. Four here on the port side and it looks like four more on starboard.”

Aziraphale peered at Crowley’s papers. “There are two more on the first-class promenade, four on the off-limits part of the deck . . .”

“Officer’s promenade,” supplied Crowley, reading his papers.

“. . . Officer’s promenade, plus the two smaller ones that are always hanging out over the side of the ship,” continued Aziraphale. “And those strange boats that are all folded up. There are two by the small lifeboats.”

“The smaller lifeboats are called cutters according to this and they hold forty people,” said Crowley absently. “The others are collapsibles. Canvas sides instead of wooden ones. There are two more on the roof of the officers’ quarters.”

“How many do they hold?” asked Aziraphale, who was anxiously wringing his hands. 

“Forty-seven,” Crowley paused a moment to do some calculations. “That’s 1178 people who can be saved.” He vanished the papers he had back to wherever he pulled them from. 

New ones appeared in his hands – passenger and crew manifests. Aziraphale looked at them over his shoulder, sucking in a breath. “There are 2200 people on this ship.”

Crowley cursed, Aziraphale choosing to ignore his crude language this time. The demon wadded up the manifests, striding angrily to the side of the ship where he threw the paper balls into the ocean.

“Bastards! They had plans to include forty-eight which would have saved everyone.” He stood there fuming until he felt Aziraphale put a hand on his shoulder. Turning around he looked at the angel.

“Come along, Crowley. Let’s head back down. There’s nothing else we can do up here.”

The sun was starting to rise now. If they hung around, they would be questioned as they were not second class passengers. With a snap from Crowley, they disappeared reappearing in their suite’s sitting room.

“Crowley . . . I . . .” said Aziraphale, cutting himself off when he realized the demon was ignoring him. The angel didn’t take it personally. When Crowley got upset like this there was no point trying to talk to him until he had a chance to calm himself.

The demon needed something to do with himself. First, he paced, followed by a couple of shots of scotch before he headed out to their promenade to cool his temper. It was a while before he reentered. Aziraphale waited patiently, picking up his book to read while Crowley calmed down. He rose when he heard the door to the promenade open.

“I think maybe I’ll try a bath, too,” Crowley said when he walked back into the sitting room.

Without further ado, he headed to the bathroom to soak in a tubful of hot water. Aziraphale let him be for now. There would be no talking to him when he was in the agitated state he was in. The angel sat back down, this time nabbing the newspaper the demon was perusing last night. He read it from the front page to back, catching up on the news in London, finally looking up when the bugle announcing that breakfast would be served eventually sounded. It prompted the angel to rap on the bathroom door.

“Yeah?”

“Just making sure you didn’t fall asleep in there. Breakfast is in half an hour.”

“Ok. Thanks.” 

Aziraphale could hear the splash of water as Crowley got out of the tub. Checking himself in the mirror in Crowley’s bedroom, he combed his hair as flat as he could manage with a head full of unruly curls then fixed his tie. His suit was a bit wrinkled, but he counted on Crowley noticing and fixing that, saving him a miracle. 

“Let’s go,” said the demon as he walked out the door a minute or two later, Aziraphale following behind.

“Anthony!” said Margaret as he entered the dining saloon with a wrinkle-free Aziraphale. “So glad I could catch up with you. I plan on keeping you out of trouble for the rest of the voyage.”

“That’s not possible, Maggie,” Crowley replied, remembering his manners and gallantly kissing her hand as expected.

“Good morning, Mr. Fell,” she said warmly to Aziraphale. 

“Good morning to you, Mrs. Brown,” he replied. “It looks to be a fine day today. What do you have planned?”

“I got a telegram yesterday about my sick grandson. He’s apparently on the mend, so I plan on simply relaxing today and not worrying like I have been,” she said.

“Amazing things, telegraphs,” said Crowley, who could remember a time when the only way to communicate with another human was to walk up to them and open one’s mouth to speak. “The human race has come so far. Such clever inventions we’re seeing now.”

They found themselves some seats and looked over the menu before heading to the buffet. Aziraphale filled his plate; Crowley took a few scones with some jam, like usual, and Margaret took a helping of eggs with some mutton and baked apples. Noticing Crowley’s nearly empty plate, she dished a couple of poached eggs on it. 

“No wonder you’re so thin. Don’t you have a mother to feed you, young man?”

“No, not really.”

They wound their way back to their table, Crowley eyeing the eggs with a bit of contempt. Aziraphale smirked at him, receiving a slight sneer in return. 

“It would be polite to eat that instead of leaving it on your plate,” said Margaret.

Crowley sighed and speared a bite of egg on his fork, if only because he was becoming rather fond of this outspoken, take-no-prisoners woman. He was going to make sure she got off this death trap.

“I’m impressed, Mrs. Brown. You have no idea how impossible it is to get him to listen,” said Aziraphale, very much enjoying this moment.

“So what is it that you two do? You’ve said you’re in business together but haven’t elaborated on it any,” Margaret commented as they ate.

Aziraphale laughed nervously. “Yes, well . . .” he stammered.

“He’s Heaven’s field agent. I’m Hell’s. We’re supposed to be Enemies, but somehow it’s just easier to be friendly with the only other face that’s been on Earth since the beginning. It’s not like the other angels and demons care enough to pay us social visits once in a while,” replied Crowley without really looking up from buttering his scone. 

“Oh, textiles,” said Margaret a little hazily. “I hear Egyptian cotton has become popular. You must be doing well.”

“Yes, very,” grinned Crowley while Aziraphale glared at him. 

After breakfast the three of them took coffee in the reception room attached to the dining saloon. She talked about her trip across Egypt and Europe with the Astors and how they are such nice people despite all the controversy surrounding their May-December marriage and her pregnancy.

“Oh,” said Margaret. “There’s Madeline now. I should go see if she needs anything. Besides if I spend too much time in your company, I’ll cause you a scandal.” She winked before standing up, prompting Aziraphale and Crowley to do the same. “See you later, boys. Stay out of trouble.”

“No promises,” replied Crowley.

“If she was twenty years younger and single, I think she’d be after you,” commented Aziraphale as they sat back down to finish their coffee. 

“Nonsense,” said Crowley. 

“Suit yourself. So, what are we doing to pass the time today?”

“I don’t know, but we’d better enjoy it whatever it is. And I’m going to make sure she gets herself on a lifeboat,” replied Crowley. “She’s good people. Most everyone else in this class can drown for all I care.”

“Crowley, you could have more sympathy. Some of these people aren’t going to be alive tomorrow.”

“And that’s not my fault if I recall correctly. Let’s go, angel.”

They ended up spending much of the day outside between their own promenade deck and the public first-class one, Aziraphale anxiously scanning the distance for signs of icebergs. Finally, Crowley pulled him inside for dinner.

“Let’s go to the Restaurant. We might as well wine and dine ourselves while we still can.” 

So they did, ending up sitting at one of the larger tables with the Astors and Margaret Brown. Crowley chatted amicably while Aziraphale seemed lost in thought the entire time.

“Egypt is quite nice,” Crowley said to John Astor. “They had some great dynasties back in the day. It was amazing what they invented despite civilization being rather young at the time.”

“Do you dabble in archaeology, Lord Crowley?” Astor asked in response.

“Yes . . . um . . . you might say that. Humans have come such a long way in such a short period of time, too,” said Crowley. “It’s quite fascinating to study.”

Aziraphale gazed out over the other diners, not paying attention to how close Crowley was coming to saying things he should keep to himself.

“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Fell?” Margaret finally asked, discreetly elbowing him.

“Hmmm?” said Aziraphale, coming out of his reverie. “Oh, it’s just been one of those days. I didn’t get any sleep last night.” He gave an apologetic smile and shrug before he started attending to his dinner again, which had started to get cold as he lost himself in thought.

“Better eat quickly,” she replied. “The rest of us would like to order dessert.”

“Oh, yes. Apologies.” He got to work on his food, which suddenly became warmer. He gave Crowley a discreet nod.

The demon gave him a Who-Me? Look before returning to his conversation, refusing to admit to doing something nice for Aziraphale. Finally, they ordered their dessert, which didn’t taste as good to Aziraphale as usual, due to being preoccupied with thoughts of the ship’s quickly approaching fate. He excused himself to go back to the suite soon after the party retired to the reception room. Once there, he changed back into his everyday clothing and lay down on his bed to get some reading done.


	5. 14 April 1912

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was later than he thought and Crowley was glad she came out to say something. Looking around for potential witnesses, he found none. He jumped over the railing into thin air, gliding off west to do one last investigation._
> 
> _It was as he suspected. They were near the icefield. The wait wouldn’t be long now._
> 
> Waiting for disaster to strike is making Aziraphale too anxious to leave the suite. Crowley keeps up appearances with the humans while occasionally checking up on the angel to soothe his nerves.

Aziraphale had walked into an ottoman, bruising his shin against its wooden leg and crying out as he fetched his shoes early that morning. The door to Crowley’s bedroom opened partially and the demon stuck his head out, his hair sticking up wildly. He blinked owlishly at the angel, this being one of those rare moments he wasn’t wearing dark glasses.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Going to Sunday services,” answered Aziraphale, lacing up a brogue. “These people need blessings.”

“Why? You’re an angel. If you wanted to bless humans you could do while playing poker in a gambling den. Location isn’t an issue,” answered Crowley who was grumpy at being awakened.

“That’s hardly proper,” replied Aziraphale primly. “If you want to talk before I leave here, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it from behind a door.”

“First, I’m just wearing my undergarments. I know what a prude you are. Second, I was only wondering what was going on. I’d like a few more hours of sleep.” The door closed again.

Aziraphale finished getting his shoes on, heading out to the dining saloon where services were held. Slipping into the back, he grabbed one of the hymnals left out for the services so he could follow along. While they prayed, he sent up blessings for everyone on the ship, asking God to overrule Gabriel and spare the innocent victims that would suffer from this so-called lesson humanity had to be taught. 

It was a lovely time, despite his grim reason for being there, particularly the hymns sung and Aziraphale felt his spirits momentarily lifted although he knew it would not last. He talked briefly afterwards with Col. Gracie and a few others of the passengers before heading back to the suite to collect Crowley for breakfast, but once he arrived there, he wasn’t remotely interested in breakfast at all.

He sat down and rolled up his trouser leg to inspect his shin now that he had a moment. He had sustained a slight bruise; he sighed wondering if he should just leave it or risk miracling it away.

“Better put that trouser leg down before you start a scandal,” teased Crowley who had quietly slipped into the sitting room while Aziraphale was busy. He took care of the bruise. “Are we going to breakfast?”

“I don’t feel like it. I think I’ll just stay in here and read today,” the angel replied. “Thank you.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll tell everyone you started feeling ill after services.” With an understanding smile, the demon slipped out.

So Aziraphale stayed in the suite for the day while Crowley squeezed in one last day of activities before the disaster began to unfold, pretending that everything was ok and Aziraphale was just laid up with a bit of seasickness or something. If he had had his choice, he probably would have drunk the day away in their sitting room trying not to think about how the hell he was going to help Aziraphale save people. He knew there weren’t enough lifeboats and people were going to die. But appearances had to be kept up. If Aziraphale was not up to the task, then it was his job.

Occasionally he’d head back to the suite to check on him. As much as he would not admit it to himself, he had made keeping an eye a certain angel into a second job. Of course, he’d get stuck with a high-maintenance one. 

“You doing ok?” he asked when he poked his head in the door to find Aziraphale sitting on one of the plush couches reading a book. 

The angel looked up with a smile. “I’m fine, Crowley. I just can’t socialize today, that’s all.”

“Are you hungry? I can conjure something up for you if you want.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” But he didn’t look fine at all. He looked uncomfortable.

Crowley shut the door behind him and joined him in the sitting room. “I don’t have anything planned before lunch. Want some company for a while?”

“I’d like that.”

They conversed about the book Aziraphale was reading, Crowley sitting on the chair next to the couch, listening attentively as Aziraphale caught him up on the plot. Eventually, Aziraphale became too anxious again to even converse so went back to reading, only this time he proceeded to read out loud to Crowley in appreciation for him staying in the suite when he needed his company. The demon remained there giving Aziraphale calming attention until lunchtime when Crowley made an appearance alone explaining that Mr. Fell was still abed feeling rather nauseous. No, keeping an eye on one angel was not easy at times at all. That’s what he got for making a friend. No good deed went unpunished, now did it?

“Let Mr. Fell know I’m thinking about him and hope he feels better soon,” said Margaret as they parted ways after lunch and coffee in the reception room. 

“I will. Thank you, Maggie,” replied Crowley. 

The demon spent a few hours rattling around the public first-class areas of the ship, unenthusiastically showing everyone that he was still alive and well even if his business partner was not feeling his best. Finally, he wandered back the Restaurant to speak first with the maître d’, then one of the chefs.

“Would it be possible to get a plate of a few delicacies of yours to take to my friend who’s laid up right now?” he asked.

“Of course, Lord Crowley,” replied the chef. “We can have someone bring that right up to his room.”

“Thank you, but I can take it myself. He has himself sequestered right now. Doesn’t want to see anyone but me.”

“I understand, sir,” replied the chef in tones that suggested he thought more was going on than a business partnership that Crowley ignored. “Please look over the menu and let the waiter know what you would like prepared.”

Crowley had a seat at a nearby empty table signalling to the waiter he wanted a menu. After ordering a few things, he waited a while until he was presented with a covered plate full of some Aziraphale’s favourite foods to tempt him with. 

He returned to the suite, setting it down in front of him. Aziraphale looked up from his book with a smile as Crowley gestured towards the mouth-watering selections.

“Eat something. You’ll need your strength,” he said in a very light manner.

“We don’t need to eat and you know that,” replied Aziraphale, but Crowley could see he was tempted by the smells.

“It’s a joke. You can’t just sit here moping until it happens. I figured a meal of some of your favourite foods just might be able to take your mind off things for a while.” 

Aziraphale just nibbled, though, despite Crowley’s best efforts to get him to stop obsessing about the upcoming disaster for just a short time. Eventually, Crowley had to leave for dinner, having accepted an invitation from acquaintances he had made on this short trip. 

“I’ll be very upset if I come back and you’ve wasted all that food,” he mock-admonished Aziraphale.

Crowley had one last dinner with the younger men he had spent a night or two carousing with in the smoking room before they talked him into spending a few hours there enjoying some cognac and a cigar or two. He caught up with a couple of slightly older gentlemen who happened to be friends, one from England and one from Sweden. They were a couple of decades older than his other impromptu friends and actually interested him with a conversation that revolved around more mature topics than the latest skirts they wanted to chase. Unfortunately, they left early and Crowley found himself surrounded by the more immature crowd who ceased to be that much fun once he was done tempting them.

Excusing himself as the young men found another reason to toast friends, Crowley went up on deck. He leaned on the railing of the uncovered portion of the first-class promenade deck scanning the ocean for any signs of ice. So far none showed themselves. 

“It’s a little cold to be out, isn’t it?” said a female voice behind him.

“Yet you are,” he replied as Margaret joined him. 

She shrugged. “I’m just here to invite you to come to the private breakfast we’re having tomorrow in honour of almost reaching New York. And to make sure you’re doing okay. I couldn’t find Mr. Fell so I assume he’s still not feeling well?”

“He’s not, but he’s not one for parties and crowds anyway. I’m fine. I just got a little warm, that’s all,” he said.

“I’ll believe you this time. I’m heading back in since I don’t have my coat. It’s almost ten; you should get yourself inside before you catch your death.”

It was later than he thought and Crowley was glad she came out to say something. Looking around for potential witnesses, he found none. He jumped over the railing into thin air, gliding off west to do one last investigation.

It was as he suspected. They were near the icefield. The wait wouldn’t be long now.

Aziraphale had settled himself in for the night with the one book he hadn’t vanished back to his bookshop along with his luggage. Gabriel wouldn’t mind him saving his own stuff. He hoped. 

Crowley still wasn’t back yet and Aziraphale had no idea what he was up to. He shouldn’t worry; it wasn’t like the demon couldn’t take care of himself. But the angel had no desire to go through this disaster alone and besides, Crowley had promised to help. He would be most upset if he reneged even if it meant that he got to keep his rare, expensive bottle of wine. All could he do right now though was wait.

It still irritated him that the demon was gone. He could have really used some company right about now. He knew they were close to collision, making him more nervous than ever. Occasionally getting up to pace the sitting room, he’d return to the couch where he kept trying to concentrate on his book while debating having a drink or two.

It wasn’t fifteen minutes later that Crowley wandered through the door to their private deck remembering this time to put his wings away before shutting it. Taking off his coat, which he conjured up mid-flight, he carefully laid it on a chair. Aziraphale looked up.

“Nice of you to finally join me,” he said. “Where have you been?”

“I nipped out to get some ice for my drink,” replied Crowley. “I’d say we have an hour or so before we run into that icefield.”

“I suppose that’s good to know,” sighed Aziraphale. He sat there, wringing his hands nervously, Crowley coming over to sit by him and attempt to distract him with tales about his day.

They waited, sometimes having snippets of conversation but sometimes sitting silently. Occasionally Aziraphale paced. Crowley would have made some quip about wearing out the carpet, but it hardly mattered at this point. He finally got up.

“I’m going outside.”

He let himself on the promenade deck to watch and wait. It was times like this that having knowledge of future events certainly wasn’t a windfall. Only the sound of the ship itself gave any indication they were moving forward. The still ocean he could see from the promenade deck gave no indication anything was passing through it on this dark night.

Although he was positive that he could see their fate in the distance, dark jagged shapes blotting out the stars on the horizon. He thought he should probably go back in and tell Aziraphale to prepare. Turning to go back inside, he noticed the angel in the doorway. 

“Hi, I think it’s almost time.” Pointing to the dark shapes in the distance he said, “There’s the icefield and we’re still moving along at full speed.”

“Oh,” said his companion without much enthusiasm. 

Crowley sat down on one of the wicker chairs, staring at a potted palm in front of him between the windows. With a wave all the palms decorating the deck disappeared. Aziraphale gave him a confused look as he sat down, pulling the chair over close to Crowley’s so they could talk easier.

Crowley shrugged with a grin. “I like kentia palms.”

“What about the gardener you hired to take care of your plants?”

“He’ll think they’ve always been there.”

They sat a while longer in silence, neither of them really knowing how much time had passed. Finally, Crowley stood up to go look out the window. He had crossed about half the deck when the ship shuddered beneath him, subtle enough to be mistaken for onboard machinery. Aziraphale was beside him in no time flat; he could feel the angel’s hand grab a hold of his shoulder awkwardly as he tried not to run right into him while he focused on things other than the position of one demon wearing black on a dark deck.

“What the heaven, Aziraphale?” he demanded as he moved aside one step.

Aziraphale could only point at the large column of white that was passing in front of the deck’s windows. Crowley watched it go by, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him. He turned to his counterpart, a rather grim look on his face.

“Showtime, angel.” He strode back inside, Aziraphale hurrying after him. “I’m going to go see what we’re up against, if we need to worry and how much time we have.”

“I’ll come with you.”

They both exited the suite, heading up to the areas of the ship only the crew were allowed to be in.

The first stop was the bridge where they stood off to the side unnoticed as crew members who knew what just happened reported to Captain Smith. He had called up the ship’s builder, Thomas Andrews, to consult. They immediately headed down to inspect the damage.

Following those two, Aziraphale and Crowley wound their way unseen through the corridors into the very bowels of the ship. Arriving at G Deck, they surveyed the damage where water was pouring in through several relatively small points of buckled steel along the starboard side of the bow. The forward cargo holds, the mailroom and the squash court were already flooded, as was one of the boiler rooms. Water was spilling over into another of the boiler rooms. 

The watertight doors were closed to try to prevent the flooding of more compartments, but it was too late. Firemen and stokers had worked in waist-deep water as they vented the boilers and reduced the fires before fleeing the area. With five compartments flooded, the ship was doomed. Andrews informed Smith that they had about two hours before the ship foundered.

Aziraphale stood on the surface of the water taking it all in. Crowley stood in it until he could stand it no longer and took to hovering impossibly over it, using his wings in spaces too small for their large size.

“How are you doing that?” he asked the angel.

“There are differences between us, my dear boy. You sink and I cannot see well at night,” replied Aziraphale.

“Sink is what this ship’s going to do. Can’t you feel it starting to list? Let’s get back to drier parts.”

Crowley took them back into their suite with a snap of the fingers where they dried themselves off, Aziraphale risking a miracle to do so.

“I’m still cold. Next time I’m just going to climb on your back,” grumbled Crowley.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond but shut it quickly as someone pounded on the door. Crowley opened it to find a steward standing on the other side. He seemed taken aback for a moment by the sight of a man wearing dark glasses inside but recovered quickly.

“We’ve hit an iceberg and are taking on water. It is advised that you put on your lifebelts and evacuate up to the Boat Deck. The captain has ordered the uncovering of the lifeboats. Do you need any assistance?”

“No, we’re fine. Thanks.” Crowley closed the door again as the man moved on. “I guess it’s time. People think this thing’s unsinkable. I’ll head up top to try to convince them to get in the lifeboats. You go make sure the third class is being warned. Sound good?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale was rummaging around in cabinets, searching for their lifebelts. Locating them, he tossed a couple on a couch before fetching his coat from his room. Crowley was doing the same thing. They met up again in the sitting room.

“Good luck, angel and be careful, ok?” said Crowley, laying a hand on his arm. “I’ll be mad at you if you do something stupid enough to end up discorporated.”

Aziraphale gave him a slight smile. “And the same goes for you, you old serpent.”

He held out his hand to Crowley, who took and shook it firmly before giving him a firm pat on the arm. Hopefully, they could fill those lifeboats. Aziraphale struggled into his lifebelt then disappeared.


	6. 15 April 1912

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The whole ship heaved then just as Aziraphale and the others working on Collapsible A got it on the deck but they failed to get the canvas sides up in before it was washed off the side of the ship. Aziraphale found himself washing off with it, clinging as best he could to the side before someone hauled him up into the partially submerged boat. As he was scrambling to get on a relatively dry bench and recover from the freezing cold dunking he just received, he was accidentally pulled out as those in the water swamped it trying to get in. He flailed in the water, unable to walk on it because of the humans surrounding him._
> 
> _“Crowley!”_

Crowley reluctantly put his lifebelt on and headed up to the Boat Deck to try to tempt people into lifeboats. He found plenty of them up there, mostly first and second class, milling around in their warmest wraps and coats, but most were hanging back as the boats were provisioned. Some even gave up and headed back to their warm cabins where servants waited with hot water bottles and warm drinks.

He wandered around, listening to conversations and gauging the attitude of the crowd. So far few were taking this seriously, joking or complaining instead as crew members tried to keep them on the deck. Other crew worked on getting the davits the lifeboats were on swung out over the water. The first one was starting to be loaded, but most found the order ridiculous. Some of the passengers had even started playing football with the ice strewn around the foredeck to pass time and keep warm, kicking it around between groups of them. 

Crowley approached an obviously indecisive young woman with a couple of children in tow. “Feel that?” he asked her.

“No. What are you talking about?”

“The ship’s listing. It won’t be long before she just turns completely over on her side. Maybe an hour or two. Then we’re all doomed. Best to get in a lifeboat.”

Warily, she ushered her children off to the nearest one being loaded. Crowley went on to get a few more convinced to get in, but finally about an hour after the iceberg collided with _Titanic_ , Boat Number 7 left only a third full. The demon cursed to watch it go. There weren’t enough seats in lifeboats the way it was. Even more were going to perish now.

He strolled up to Second Officer Lightoller, who was loading the boats on the port side. He was only allowing women and children on before sending them down, full or not, once there were no more women or children wanting to board.

“Why not let men on?” Crowley asked. “Save more lives?”

“The boats will pick up women and children who end up in the water. I have instructed them to.”

“You’re kidding yourself if you believe these selfish bastards are going to do anything more than save their own skins. They’ll be afraid of being swamped once panic sets in.”

“I have more faith in humanity than that, sir,” the officer replied.

“I don’t.” Crowley left. But still having the ability, he blessed the man anyway for at least helping save some lives. With any luck, even a demonic blessing would keep him alive through this. Crowley felt he was the kind of person who was bound for greater things.

Several boats had been launched when he came upon a young stewardess who appeared uncertain. He approached her. She seemed a bit taken aback by being accosted by a member of the first class and one wearing strange dark glasses at that. Unnervingly, he spent a moment looking her up and down before speaking.

“The ship’s not going being floating much longer. You might as well get yourself a seat on a lifeboat,” Crowley told her. “You’ve seen trouble on ships before, haven’t you?

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I was working on the _Olympic_ when she collided with the _Hawke_.”

“Well, you’re going to get through this one, too.” He took her hand and guided her to the port side where Boat 16 was loading. “Get in. These boats aren’t filling up. Some don’t think the ship is going to sink. Others think the lifeboats are dangerous. Show those ladies over there that it’s perfectly fine.”

“I will, sir.” She noticed he had red hair like her. “You got some Irish in you despite that English accent. I’ll do it because us Irish got to stick together.” As carefully as she could, she climbed in and had a seat among the women already there. 

Crowley gave her a wave and headed off.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, was going cabin to cabin in the third class convincing families to head to the Boat Deck, but finding his task frustrating because few knew the way out. Finally, he had those who wished to head up follow along behind him until he had a good crowd, then he led them through the winding corridors to the where the lifeboats were. Dropping them off, he prepared to head back down. 

The angel suddenly froze as he noticed Ida Strauss helping her maid get in Boat 8, only to see Ida stay with her husband on the deck. Isidor had refused to take a seat in it when so many women and children still needed a means to escape. He heard them speak to each other

“Go, Ida.”

“We have lived together for many years. Where you go, I go.”

They walked back out of the way hand-in-hand, Aziraphale catching up with them when they took seats on a couple of deck chairs.

“Mr. and Mrs. Strauss. Why are you still here?” he asked. “You should get on a lifeboat.”

“No, Mr. Fell. We’re not leaving as long as there are children and young families on board,” she replied. “We’ve raised our family and had many wonderful years together. Let them have their chance.” She smiled and squeezed her husband’s hand.

He shrugged with a grin at Aziraphale. “She always was stubborn.” He looked upon her with pure love. They were at peace with their fate.

Aziraphale shook Isidor’s hand. “It was an honour to know you if only for a little while, Mr. Strauss. May we meet again.” Then he turned towards Ida, taking her hand to kiss it. “Many waters cannot quench love – neither can the floods drown it.” Allowing a bit of his divine nature to show through, he let go of her hand and took leave of them with a nod.

Ida’s eyes opened wider and she understood. “Our Mr. Fell is a messenger of God,” she said to her husband. “I now have hope there is more after death.”

Taking a breather after that emotional moment, one angel rushed back below deck to see what help he could give. The flooding was starting to creep into E deck now, Aziraphale wading into ankle-deep water as he directed panicked people up the stairs to drier areas. Now he just concentrated on getting passengers up out of the water. 

“Oh, good lord this is getting cold,” he said as the icy seawater wicked up the fabric of his trousers.

“Keep heading that way,” he told a few latecomers, pointing the direction of the stairwell. “You’ll come across the staircase.” 

He watched them go then transported up to C Deck where he could feel a lot of panicked negative emotion radiating from one concentrated area. Winding his way through corridors, he found it. The third class general room was full of those praying, led by a pastor who was travelling steerage. The angel rushed in.

“They are still loading lifeboats. Women and children have a chance to get off this sinking wreck,” he called to them.

“God will save us,” said one. “He will bring rescue ships.”

“There is no hope except in prayer now,” said a man near tears. “We are doomed. Pray for your soul, my good fellow. We are all to perish here tonight.”

“Head up to the Boat Deck! God helps those who help themselves! Please, save yourselves and pray when this is over!” But it was no use. Not one of them would budge and he had more to try to save. He finally left them. As much as he didn’t want to see people die, he didn’t have time to argue with them. He could feel the ship now start to list to port and the bow tilt downwards even more. 

They were running out of time.

Milling around on the deck, Crowley encouraged more women and children to get in the lifeboats. He had seen Aziraphale briefly before he had disappeared again to rally second- and third-class passengers who were putting their safety at risk by staying in their cabins. Crowley got another family into a lifeboat, turning around to run directly into Margaret Brown.

“Maggie, you’re still here,” he said, surprised.

“Of course I am. There are people here who need convincing to get into the lifeboats. Those things are being launched half-loaded because nobody thinks this vessel is going to sink,” she replied. 

He took her gently by the arm, guiding her to Boat 6 despite her protests. She turned to him angrily as they stood by the railing, women boarding behind him. 

“Go. You know the poorer passengers who survive this are going to need help. Do you think that any of these money-grubbing jackals are going to part with a penny to help them? Or lift a finger to fundraise?”

She looked sadly at him. “You’re staying, aren’t you, young man?”

He nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

“Excuse my un-lady-like language, but bullshit. Your chances of getting off here are slim if you don’t get into a boat soon.” In a rare showing of tenderness, she reached out to hug him. “You look after yourself, Anthony, ok? Try to get yourself and Mr. Fell in a boat. They’re allowing men on on the starboard side. If not, I’ll see you one day in Heaven.”

“I’m afraid that door closed a long time ago. Now get in that boat before I throw you in it,” he replied, allowing her to hug him for just a moment before pushing her off. “I’ll just sprout wings and fly off if I need to.”

She laughed at that. “Anyone can be forgiven if they ask,” she said. “Farewell, Anthony. I hope I do get to see you again.”

“Some of us are unforgivable. Goodbye, Maggie. And you never know.”

With that, he took her hand and helped her into the boat. 

“For Hell’s sake, I’m a terrible excuse for a demon,” he muttered as he headed off to persuade more passengers to board the lifeboat.

Back below deck and desperate to get people to see how serious of a situation they were in, Aziraphale approached the locked gate with the crew member guarding on the other side, pushing his way through the press of steerage passengers who were crowding close, screaming to be allowed to leave.

“What are you doing, my good fellow?” he shouted over the din at the man.

“It’ll be opened in a few minutes. We’re trying to prevent a stampede to the lifeboats, sir.”

“This is hardly the way,” replied an irate Aziraphale. “A rush is going to happen as soon as you open these gates. Now unlock them before you panic these poor people even further.”

The man clearly wasn’t going to respond to him, so Aziraphale took matters into his own hands. First, he dealt with the crowd. Using a little bit of angelic persuasion, he calmed them.

“I need you all to be silent now and step back.” He raised his hands and started to shoo them further down the corridor. They quieted almost immediately, staying out of his way. “You’re going to remain right where you are while I get this gate open for you.”

Now the guard was watching him warily after seeing him so easily calm the panicked crowd. Aziraphale glared at him one last time before grasping the gate itself and wrenching it open with a small miracle. Frightened by his display of strength, the crew member fled, heading up the corridor and out of sight. Aziraphale turned to the crowd.

“You may proceed orderly to the Boat Deck,” he said, grabbing the nearest man and putting his hands on his temples, giving him mental instructions on how to get through the confusing corridors. “Please follow this gentleman, he knows the way.”

“Let’s go,” the man said, having no idea exactly how he came to have such knowledge, but taking his sudden leadership role seriously. With a wave of his hand, he led the crowd calmly up to the lifeboats. 

Aziraphale stood back to let them all pass, then continued on his quest to convince those in their cabins to abandon ship.

His counterpart had given up his post on deck and headed down below to help out. The lifeboats were not filling up and Crowley dreaded the extreme loss of life, demon though he may be. 

He pounded through the corridors, stopping at occupied cabins to encourage those within to evacuate to the decks for at least a chance of getting on a lifeboat. Eventually, he left the third class passengers’ area and was running through the staff quarters. Stopping he came upon a cabin with an open door where a man dressed in the white uniform of a baker sat drinking half a tumbler of liqueur, a bottle nearby on the floor.

“You really need to get topside, sir. Sitting here drinking isn’t going to help anything.”

“A little liquid courage is needed before I end up in that cold ocean. The boats are all gone,” the man replied. “It’s just a quick nip before I head to the decks. Care to join me?”

Crowley thought there was some logic to this as the man handed him the bottle. “All right, just a bit of courage . . . Cheers, my friend.” 

The baker finished his glass while Crowley imbibed a good amount from the bottle. It was while they were finishing up that Aziraphale found them. Giving a stern look to both of them, he ushered the two out of the cabin.

“This is not the time to be drinking,” he admonished. He shooed both out into the corridor. Taking the baker by the shoulders, he looked solemnly at the man, seeing how he helped fill lifeboats first with provisions, then with passengers. “I know you helped out a lot of people this evening by your actions and I promise you will survive this.”

Crowley felt the angel give the man a blessing. The baker gave Aziraphale a puzzled look but took off in the direction of the stairs. That done, the angel turned to his slightly drunk companion. 

“Really, Crowley?”

“Really. ‘S not like it’s gonna hurt me.”

“Time to move upwards. The flooding is starting to creep up to this level,”,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t know what to do about the crowd in the general room. They won’t budge. I’ve tried twice now.”

Crowley had sobered up. “You can’t save them all. The boats are gone so they’re doomed anyway. Let them pray if it gives them comfort. Shall we head back to London?” The demon was anxious to leave before people started dying. It was not something he could handle well.

“Not yet,” replied Aziraphale. “I want to send my blessings with those who don’t make it. I know . . . it’s thumbing my nose at Gabriel, but he can’t fault me for doing my job. I’m here to do good deeds.”

“All right. But I’m not looking forward to riding this thing into that cold water. Some of us can’t walk on it.” Crowley paused a moment. “The collapsibles. They still haven’t gotten those down. Come on!”

They arrived on deck to find Collapsible C had been launched while Collapsible D was ready to be filled, surrounded by men who were making sure only women and children boarded it. A man was desperately trying to get the attention of a crew member in the circle. Behind him stood two little boys, the oldest no older than three. Aziraphale snatched up the youngest, the act gaining the attention of one of the men guarding.

“Take him and his brother,” he said passing the child over. “Their father says his name is Louis Hoffman. Tell the boat occupants that.”

Having gotten his sons to safety, Louis stepped back into the crowd. Aziraphale did not see him again.

Crowley, smelling a guilty conscious, looked over the railing at the departing collapsible. There seated among the passengers was J. Bruce Ismay, one of the higher-ups of White Star Line, the company that owned _Titanic_. Crowley’s lip curled up in an angry sneer. 

He transported himself to Collapsible C, settling weightlessly on the canvas side, visible only to Ismay. 

“You bloody coward,” the demon snarled. “There are still women and children trapped on that ship.”

Ismay looked around, noting nobody seemed to see the angry man glowing with a red aura perched on the side of the lifeboat. “There were none around when I boarded,” he replied in slightly shaky tone. 

“You could have done the noble thing and _found_ someone more worthy to take your seat,” replied Crowley.

“I have as much right to live as anyone else! How dare you presume that some lives are more important than my own.”

“You pushed Smith to keep at full-speed despite the danger,” Crowley snapped. “Command this boat to go back and get someone out of the water when that ship sinks. Allow them to have your seat. Or be cursed. Your choice.”

“That’s preposterous. I’m not going to send a lifeboat back to be swamped by the panicked.” Ismay replied. “And who are you to tell _me_ what I should be doing?”

“ _Your choice_ ,” repeated Crowley. “And who I am? I’m the demon who’s going to make sure nobody forgets your role in this whole disaster, you coward.” 

He smiled a humourless grin complete with eye teeth grown the length of fangs and flashed his serpentine eyes at Ismay. The man blanched but refused to take action but that was his choice; Crowley could not interfere with free will. If Ismay wanted to brave a curse, that was his decision. With a snap of his fingers, Crowley returned to _Titanic_ to see what else he could do to assist. 

The flooding had become so bad it forced them to launch Collapsible D with only twenty-five on board. Nearby, Crowley was gathering material to make ramps to get Collapsibles A and B down off the roof of the officer’s quarters. Two men whom Crowley had made acquaintances with in the smoking room came running from inside the rapidly flooding ship. They stopped when they saw him getting materials to those building the ramps.

“Lord Crowley!” one called.

“Don’t stop to talk to me or wait for this boat. One was just launched with seats still empty. It should still be at the side of the ship,” shouted Crowley. “Jump! What do you have to lose?”

He watched the two men go over the railing as he picked up some oars. Both made it into the boat, albeit a little inelegantly. One landed upside-down in the bow, the other hit half in and half out, but both would survive to see another day. They helped haul a few more people into it from out of the freezing water, saving a few more lives.

The whole ship heaved then just as Aziraphale and the others working on Collapsible A got it on the deck but they failed to get the canvas sides up in before it was washed off the side of the ship. Aziraphale found himself washing off with it, clinging as best he could to the side before someone hauled him up into the partially submerged boat. As he was scrambling to get on a relatively dry bench and recover from the freezing cold dunking he just received, he was accidentally pulled out as those in the water swamped it trying to get in. He flailed in the water, unable to walk on it because of the humans surrounding him.

“Crowley!”

The demon was having his own troubles. They had managed to get Collapsible B off the roof, but it had broken through the ramps they created, landing on the deck upside-down as the Boat Deck was flooded and the ship foundered. It washed off the quickly sinking ship, pulling Crowley and one of the wireless operators, a man by the name of Bride, underneath it as it went. They were saved from being sucked under by the vessel’s rapid sinking only because of the collapse of the first funnel. The pressure of the floodwater snapped the cables holding it, causing the entire structure to fall, crushing those unlucky enough to be in its path. The wave it made as it hit the water pushed the overturned boat out of range. Bride surfaced, confused.

“We’re under the boat,” called out Crowley. “You’re going to have to swim out.” 

“Where are you? Where’s the side?”

They could hear men climbing on top of it. Crowley swam around, paddling his way to the side and thanking a demon’s ability to see in the dark for not the first time this voyage.

“Over here!” he called. “Follow my voice.” He heard splashing before getting a visual on the man. “That’s it. Keep coming. You’re almost there.” He grabbed Bride’s hand and put it on the side of the boat. “We’re going to have to duck under it. Ready? One . . . two . . . three . . .”

He transported both of them outside the boat so that they wouldn’t have to fight those hard cork lifebelts trying to submerge themselves enough to clear the boat’s side. It wasn’t like Bride was going to know. He was panicked and his body was going to be fighting off hypothermia. One little demonic miracle would go unnoticed. 

“There, get yourself on board, although you’re all in for a miserable night. At least you’ll survive.”

“What about you?” Bride asked.

“I’m just a figment of your imagination, my friend.” Crowley swam off to find Aziraphale.

Far enough away from panicked victims in the water and lifeboats rowing off, he looked around. “Aziraphale!”

No answer.

“Aziraphale!” He waited for a reply. “You better not have discorporated, you idiot!”

“I’m right here, now will you quit that awful yelling?” A hand reached down and pulled him out of the water on to a large piece of wooden debris, Crowley scrabbling to get purchase on the slick wet wood.

“Thanks.” Crowley wished himself dry, pulling a pair of dark glasses out of his coat pocket that wasn’t there previously. “So, now what? Are you done blessing the poor blighters who aren’t going to make it?”

“Almost. There are a few more souls out there I can still hear.”

Crowley pulled his knees up to his chin, furious about Heaven’s need to punish innocents over the comments of one man. But he stayed silent on the matter, allowing Aziraphale to do what he could to ease the passing of fifteen hundred souls and his own uncomfortable feelings over the whole incident. Finally, he could stand it no longer.

“Some relaxing cruise _this_ was.”

“Sorry,” muttered Aziraphale. “Shall we go?”

“Sure. Unless you want to scoop up a few mementoes. I liberated quite a few bottles of fine alcohol there right before the end. I’ll drink to the victims of this pointless excuse to punish humanity.”

“I have something already,” replied Aziraphale. He pulled a soggy folded copy of the first-class menu for the fourteenth out of his coat pocket. Carefully he dried it, got rid of its folds then sent it back to his bookshop. He took off his lifebelt, letting it slip into the water. “I don’t think I need anything else. Shall we?”

“Yes,” replied Crowley. “Let’s get out of here before this place becomes a hive of activity. There are ships nearby. Rescue efforts will happen. Where are we off to?”

“I think I just want to go home,” Aziraphale replied.

“Bookshop it is.”

With a slight pop, the two disappeared, leaving the debris they had perched on abandoned in the cold still night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The people in the half-flooded Collapsible A were rescued by Lifeboat 14 after several hours in the water. Of the twenty people who were initially in it, only thirteen survived. Three bodes were left to float in the collapsible which was found later that day. I don't know what happened to the others who died -- if they died while in the other lifeboat or on _Carpathia_ , the ship that picked up _Titanic's_ survivors. 
> 
> It's estimated thirty men, mostly crew members, spend all night standing on the hull of the upside-down Collapsible B as it slowly sank into the icy water. Several sustained frostbite, including Wireless Operator Harald Bride who had to be carried aboard _Carpathia_ because of frostbite and an injured ankle.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“How do you do it?”_
> 
> _“Do what?”_
> 
> _“Just forget about it?”_
> 
> _Crowley looked up at him. He had his glasses off and was using a black handkerchief to clean the lenses; his uncovered eyes showing a very deep level of vulnerability for a second before he looked down once more and placed them back on his face. Only then did he gaze up at Aziraphale again._
> 
> _“That’s the thing, angel,” he said and Aziraphale swore he caught a hint of sadness in his voice. “I don’t.”_

Two figures appeared suddenly in the darkness of the bookshop, steadying each other like they were unsure they were off the makeshift raft and on solid ground. Sensing the hardwood floor beneath him, Crowley let go of Aziraphale, feeling a little foolish. Aziraphale gave his arm a brief pat and moved away. 

Seeing that Aziraphale appeared on the verge of cracking thanks to the stress the Heaven-made disaster had put on him, Crowley gestured towards the office. The angel blinked, then belatedly realized his friend was indicating they should go sit down. The demon disappeared into the backroom, returning with a decanter of scotch and two tumblers. Pouring a generous amount of liquor in each, he set one on Aziraphale’s desk in front of him and sat himself down in his usual seat on the couch next to the till, taking the other with him.

“Here. It’s not the best solution, of course, but it’ll help for now.”

The angel smiled his thanks and they drank down the first of several bottles of scotch until about three hours later that morning, Crowley decided to stumble home to sleep it off, Aziraphale hoping he could actually find his own terraced house in his intoxicated state. Meanwhile, Aziraphale allowed himself to stay drunk in the closed bookshop until he started to feel a hangover come on, then fixed it with a small miracle. He spent the rest of the day in thought, only coming out of his reverie when a heavenly chime sounded followed by a blue light streaming through the oculus. 

Sighing heavily, Aziraphale really didn’t want to deal with a visit from Gabriel. He went over to a display to fiddle with it although it was nothing more than an attempt to look like he was doing something other than brooding over _Titanic’s_ fate.

“Gabriel,” said Aziraphale trying his best to smile in at least a halfway pleasant manner. “Nice of you to drop by. Can I get you anything?”

“No. I’m fine,” replied the Archangel breezily. “I’m just here to tell you you did a great job with _Titanic_. We all look forward to reading your report on it.” 

“I’ll have that in to you by the end of the week,” Aziraphale replied wishing he’d just leave. There was a stack of newspapers beside the till he wanted to start reading, all with headlines proclaiming the ship’s fate. 

“Good. Good. Be sure to get that in. You could have a chance at promotion,” Gabriel replied, smiling brightly. He raised an eyebrow. “If you want it, that is. We do know what a great job you’re doing thwarting the demon Crowley.”

Aziraphale replied with a nervous smile. “Yes, I think I’m fine here, thank you. I’ve been here long enough, I believe I’m better suited to this job than any other angel. I do know all of Crowley’s tricks. Can’t have him slipping in a few wiles, now can we?”

Gabriel laughed a rather hollow laugh in agreement, eventually leaving much to Aziraphale’s relief. “Oh, by the way,” he said, pausing in the soft light coming down from on high. “You didn’t have to do all those blessings, you know. It really threw Admissions for a loop. They’ve been backed up for hours making sure paperwork was in order.”

Aziraphale just smiled to himself, pleased that it caused at least minor trouble for Heaven after the misery they caused _Titanic’s_ passengers. He sat down at his desk, taking with him the conjured-up stack of newspapers. Setting them down on it, he got ready to leaf through them to see what the humans actually knew about the disaster. He started with a copy of the _New York Times_ , figuring the papers from where the _Carpathia_ docked and survivors debarked would have the most accurate information right now. 

The bookshop’s bell rang in that distinctive manner that could only announce the arrival of one person. Aziraphale stretched to look around the till.

“Why do you bother with those reading glasses? We both know you don’t need them.” Crowley flopped on the couch beside the till a piece of parchment sealed with a piece of wax that had been broken open in his hand.

Aziraphale took them off, placing them on the stack of newspapers he was now sure he wouldn’t get a chance to read them now for quite a while. “Good afternoon to you, too, Crowley. I’m surprised to see you here bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after all we went through. You pickled your brain pretty well last night. ”

“You know . . . the perks of not having to go through hangovers. And I’m not the only who was on a campaign. You drank a couple of bottles empty, yourself,” he replied. He tossed the parchment on the coffee table. “Look at what I found waiting for me when I got home.”

Aziraphale leaned over to pick it up, opening up the piece of paper. “A commendation for sinking _Titanic_? Do your people actually pay any attention to what you’re doing? How many have they given you for deeds you didn’t even do?”

Crowley shrugged. “I’ve lost count . . . Spanish Inquisition . . . Reign of Terror . . . they about threw me a bloody parade for the Great Flood because I apparently made humankind so awful God felt the need to start over. ‘Congratulations, Crowley. More humans are dead. Here, have a commendation,’” he mocked. “I don’t mind they don’t pay much attention to me, but the constant praise for the human race killing each other or running afoul of Heaven is wearing quite thin. I don’t think I ever want to travel outside this city again except by my own means. I don’t care to get any more commendations for sinking things. So . . . tea?”

“I don’t know if I have the stomach for it today, Crowley.” Aziraphale placed the commendation back on the coffee table where it began to burn. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Just forget about it?”

Crowley looked up at him. He had his glasses off and was using a black handkerchief to clean the lenses; his uncovered eyes showing a very deep level of vulnerability for a second before he looked down once more and placed them back on his face. Only then did he gaze up at Aziraphale again. 

“That’s the thing, angel,” he said and Aziraphale swore he caught a hint of sadness in his voice. “I don’t.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale didn’t quite know how to respond to that. There was silence for a moment as he understood better Crowley’s sometimes flippant attitude. “I can read these later if you really do want to go have tea.”

“The Ritz, then?”

“That sounds lovely.”

And they left to hail a cab to the Ritz where a table would miraculously be free just for them.

Thousands of miles away from London, Margaret Brown searched for Crowley and Aziraphale on the _Carpathia_ when all the lifeboats were finally found and the survivors rescued. She mourned their loss then puzzled over them after they showed up on neither passenger manifests nor lists of those who perished in the sinking. They remained a mystery for almost fifteen years until a visit to London where she noticed a pair who looked just like them sitting on a bench while she was strolling with friends through St. James’s Park. The redhead in dark glasses and fine black attire smiled with a tap of his nose. The blond in a slightly outdated beige suit nodded amicably. Neither looked as if they had aged a day since the sinking.

Her mind didn’t register it at first, but when she turned back to the bench, looking at it from beneath the brim of her very large hat, it was empty. She smiled to herself thinking she had just seen their ghosts and they were telling her wherever they were, they were doing just fine. 

“You always did like those outrageous hats!” a voice that sounded just like Anthony, Viscount Crowley called out. 

She chuckled softly before turning her attention back to her friends.

“Well, then,” said Aziraphale, turning to Crowley as they watched Margaret and her group stroll down the path from a safe distance. “You closed that chapter for her as you wanted. Shall we go?”

“I suppose so,” replied the demon, following after the angel. “I still think the last song the orchestra played was ‘Autumn’ and that’s a chapter we’re never going to close.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Only you and that wireless operator you were trapped with under that overturned lifeboat think that. Being stuck with wood and canvas between you and the open air must have affected the hearing of both of you. It was ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee’. Anyway, what shall we do today?”

“Remember when I said I never wanted to travel again except by my own means? I saw an advertisement for an automobile I liked and I . . .” Crowley grinned sheepishly.

“You finally bought one, didn’t you?” asked Aziraphale, trying to hide his exasperated tone.

“Well, yeah, and the coachbuilder has finished the body and interior for it so it’s ready to be picked up today.”

The angel sighed. “Let’s go get the noisy beast.”

“I’m told it runs pretty quietly, so don’t start insulting it yet.” 

They had walked up to the street where Crowley hailed the cab that whisked them off to the coachbuilder where Crowley’s new mode of transportation awaited them. There outside of the building was parked a glossy black 1926 Bentley. Crowley excitedly went over to inspect it after making the final payment to the coachbuilder.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked Aziraphale.

“Well, it does have a certain symmetry to it, I admit,” Aziraphale replied as he watched Crowley walk all around it, running his hands over its sleek paint job and swooping fenders.

Finally, the demon took a deep breath, opened the driver’s side door and sat down in it on the dark brown leather bucket seat. Almost reverentially he caressed the leather-wrapped steering wheel. 

“Oh, angel,” he breathed. “I think I’m in love.”


	8. Author's Note

I had Crowley and Aziraphale run into some real passengers and crew on the _Titanic_ :

 **Archibald Gracie IV** was a wealthy American colonel, amateur historian, real estate investor and writer. His father had been an officer for the Confederacy in the American Civil War and he was quite the expert on the War itself, especially the Battle of Chickamauga in which his father fought. He wrote a book about the sinking of the _Titanic_ which was one of the most detailed because he spent months trying to piece together the events of the sinking. Having never recovered from the trauma of the sinking, he died eight months after the disaster before he finished proofing the book. It’s still in print today under the title _Titanic: A Survivor's Story_. He was one of the thirty or so men to spend the night standing on the hull of the upside down Collapsible B.

 **John Jacob Astor IV and Madeline Force Astor** were an American businessman and real estate developer and his much-younger bride. He was the wealthiest person aboard the ship. He made millions in real estate and developed the Astoria Hotel in New York City. He married 18-year-old socialite Madeleine Talmage Force almost immediately after his divorce from his first wife when was 47. The marriage caused a major scandal. The Astors took a long honeymoon in Europe and Egypt waiting for it all to blow over. Madeline discovered she was pregnant during their trip and wished to return to the U.S. to have the baby. They booked on the _Titanic_ to return to America but John Astor did not survive the sinking. Four months later she gave birth to John Jacob Astor VI (there was some weird numbering going on in that family because of English relatives of the same name and it would probably have been less confusing had they been more creative with boys’ names).

 **Margaret Brown** was fictionalized as “The Unsinkable Molly Brown” even though she never went by Molly. She had humble beginnings in Missouri, USA and her husband struck it rich in mining. Being new money, they were ostracized by old money. She was one of the few social elite to not snub the Astors and traveled with them in Egypt while they were on their honeymoon, probably because she was used to being snubbed by the socially elite herself. Cutting her holiday short, she was returning to the U.S. because her grandson was ill. Before and after _Titanic_ , she was a philanthropist and ran for a US Senate seat eight years before women could vote in the U.S. During the sinking, she boarded a lifeboat where she manned an oar and encouraged the crew on the boat to return for survivors, even though she couldn’t convince anyone to go back. Margaret was instrumental in setting up charities to help out financially ruined second and third class passengers after the disaster. Plus, she really did have a thing for big hats as she was constantly photographed wearing them. The reason we remember her is because of the musical written about her adventures during _Titanic’s_ sinking. It probably wouldn’t have been proper at the time for an upper-class lady to dine alone with two men, but she did what she wanted from what I have read, not really worrying about consequences. Margaret really did make up stories when talking to reporters to see if they’d be printed and wasn’t shy about calling out other upper class ladies for bad behaviour.

 **Sir Cosmo Duff-Gordon and Lucie, Lady Duff-Gordon** were peerage from England. She was a fashion designer for the elite (and was the one Aziraphale was talking to who designed for Oscar Wilde) who went bankrupt when it was discovered that she wasn’t creating everything she claimed to but instead buying at lot of her designs from France. Cosmo was accused of bribing the crew members on their lifeboat to not go back for survivors. There were twelve people on their boat when it launched, but a lifeboat could hold sixty. The Duff-Gordons did give the equivalent of about £486 to the crewmembers on their lifeboat to help them out since they were now out of work. Inquiries did not find evidence the crew was bribed to not rescue others, but Cosmo’s reputation never recovered even though he was cleared.

 **Isidor and Rosalie Ida Strauss** were an especially close couple who wrote each other every day if he ever had to travel for business. He was the owner of Macy’s department store, along with his brother, and a member of the United States House of Representatives. He emigrated with his family from Bavaria to the U.S. where he lived first in Georgia then moved to New York after the American Civil War. His father started out selling crockery in the basement of Macy’s department store. Isidor and his brother worked their way up from there, to partners and finally acquired the store from the Macy family in 1895. He served a term as the Representative from New York’s 15th District. He was offered the position of Postmaster General by President Grover Cleveland but turned it down. Ida was born in Worms, Germany but somewhere along the way immigrated to New York where she met and married Isidor and had seven children with him. The two of them spent the winter of 1911-12 in Europe and had planned on returning to the U.S. by another ship, but a coal strike meant _Titanic_ was the only ship who had coal, so they transferred to her. The line about waters not quenching love Aziraphale said to her is from Song of Solomon 8:7 and engraved on their cenotaph at the Strauss family mausoleum. Yiddish newspapers celebrated the devotion and courage Ida displayed when she decided to stay with Isidor.

 **Captain Edward J. Smith and Thomas Andrews** were the ship’s captain and builder, respectively. Captain Smith’s actions are surrounded in mystery with tales stating everything from he hid away in his quarters during the disaster to him heroically swimming out to a lifeboat to hand over a child he was carrying. Both of those extremes are probably not true. Some of his descendants have spent the last five years trying to piece together facts to determine if he was incompetent, heroic or just did his job like he was supposed to. Andrews, who oversaw the building of the _Olympic_ and _Titanic_ , was one of a group of engineers on _Titanic_ ’s maiden voyage to observe her operations and see if there were any needed improvements. He spent his last hours going from stateroom to stateroom urging people to put on lifebelts and evacuate. Up on deck he urged women and children to get into the lifeboats. Andrews was last seen around 2 AM on the Boat Deck and it is likely he was washed into the ocean around ten minutes later when _Titanic_ made her sudden dip into the water. Neither Smith nor Andrews survived.

 **Second Officer Charles Lightoller** was in charge of loading the port side lifeboats and stuck strictly to women and children only with an experienced male crewmember to head the boat. He did lower them half full, partially because the crew didn’t trust the davits with full lifeboats even though the davits could support a boat filled with seventy grown men and partially because he expected the lifeboats to pick up those in the when people started abandoning ship. Unfortunately only one lifeboat returned to pick up those in the water. Lightoller and Marconi operator Harold Bride, along with a few other crew members, worked to get the collapsible lifeboats stored the officer’s quarters roof down. Unfortunately _Titanic sank_ as they were working on getting Collapsible B into position, trapping it upside-down. Men stood on the overturned boat that slowly sunk as the night went on. Lightoller directed them to keep shifting their weight to keep it afloat as long as possible and while some ended up succumbing to the eventual knee-deep cold water they were forced to stand in as it sank, his actions saved thirty men. Later during WWII, Lightoller and his son used his yacht to rescue over one hundred men from Dunkirk. 

**Violet Jessop** , whom is the red-haired stewardess Crowley convinces to get in Boat 16, was unique for surviving disasters on all three of the _Olympic_ class ships. She first served as a stewardess on _Olympic_ when it collided with the British cruiser HMS _Hawke_ on 20 September 1911, which damaged _Olympic_ , but didn’t sink it. Then her friends convinced her to transfer to _Titanic_ where she survived. Not many stories came out of that Boat 16 and Violet may have been given a baby to care for in the boat, but some accounts say another woman was the one who took care of the baby. Finally, she was a stewardess for the Red Cross on board the _Britannic_ which was requisitioned during WWI and used as a hospital ship. It sank 21 November 1916 in the Aegean Sea due to an unknown explosion thought to be a mine planted by a U-boat. She barely survived that, having to jump out of her lifeboat as it was sucked towards the _Britannic’s_ propellers. Only 30 out of the 1,066 people on board died. She continued to work as a stewardess until her retirement.

 **Charles Joughin** was the chief baker on the ship. When he heard the lifeboats were going to be launched, he and his crew gathered bread to put on each one. He was supposed to captain Lifeboat 10, but stayed behind when he saw there were three crewmen on it already. He went back to his cabin for “a drop of liquor” according to his own testimony (really half a tumbler-full), then went back up to find all the lifeboats had launched. He started throwing deck chairs in the water for flotation devices and when the ship eventually started to go sink, climbed over the safety railing on the stern so he was standing on the outside of the ship and rode it down. He got into the water without wetting his hair and testified he swan around until he found the overturned Collapsible B lifeboat. There was no room on it, so he clung to the side until they came upon another lifeboat that pulled him in, spending a total of two hours in the water. He had no issues with his long time in the water except swollen feet. This guy was all kinds awesome and if angels exist, one was looking after him. I just decided that angel was named Aziraphale. The liquor he drank might have helped keep him alive in the water that long, although normally getting drunk is a great way to get hypothermia pretty quickly. But he didn’t panic, which might have also helped. Thrashing around in below-freezing water is a great way to increase blood flow to your extremities and cause the loss of body heat to happen faster.

 **Michel Marcel and Edmond Roger Navratil** were the sons of Michel Navratil and his estranged wife Marcelle. Mr. Navratil had kidnapped the boys after they were allowed to visit him over the Easter weekend and the family was travelling under the assumed name “Hoffman.” Their father died in the sinking making them the only unclaimed child survivors and they were dubbed “the Orphans of the _Titanic_.” Michael was three and Edmond was two and they both only spoke French making it hard to find out any information on them. Their mother identified them through newspaper articles and came to New York to claim them. She took them back to France to raise them. Edmond became an architect, but died young because his health suffered after he was a prisoner of war in WWII. Michael became a professor of philosophy and said that his thinking was greatly influenced by his father’s death. He was the last surviving male passenger when he died in 2001 at the age of 92.

 **J. Bruce Ismay** was the chairman of the White Star Line and arose as the villain of the sinking in the public eye when he took a seat in a lifeboat and survived the sinking. He claimed there were no women and children around when he boarded Collapsible C. Eyewitnesses challenged his claim. Also, during the British inquiry into the sinking, he was questioned about urging Captain Smith to keep the ship going at full speed to break the north Atlantic crossing speed record and denied doing so. But competition between the two big British shipping companies, White Star Line and Cunard Line was fierce with both trying to outdo the other for bigger, faster, more luxurious ships. It’s a very real possibility that he may have encouraged the captain to get to New York as fast as possible. On the other hand, it was pretty much standard procedure to steam through ice fields like they weren’t a problem because it was thought it was better to get through dangerous areas as quickly as possible. Either way, he didn’t do himself any favours by refusing to speak with survivors or the media and hiding away in his private cabin aboard _Carpathia_ after rescue.

 **Hugh Woolner and Mauritz Håkan Björnström-Steffansson** , also known as the two Crowley met in the smoking room on the 14th and yelled at to jump into Collapsible D, helped load lifeboats early on in the evening thinking it was just an exercise. Later, they helped crew members remove male passengers from Collapsible C so that women and children could be boarded. They noticed that Collapsible D had space in the bow when the upper decks were starting to flood. They jumped from A Deck into it and helped haul a couple of other men on board who ended up in the water when _Titanic_ sank not that much later. Björnström-Steffansson had the biggest claim for a single piece of luggage in the form of a painting he took on board. The claim was for $100,000 U.S. which would be $2,635,644 in 2019.

 **Harald Bride** was one of the Marconi wireless operators on board _Titanic_. His job was basically to send and receive telegrams. He and the other wireless operator spent most of the sinking sending out SOS messages (CQD was also used as an emergency code at the time, so both were sent since SOS was still fairly new.) He was relieved of his post as the ship’s power failed. He managed to get on top of Collapsible B and survived with a badly sprained ankle and frostbite to his foot. They had to carry him off of _Carpathia_ when it docked in New York. While on _Carpathia_ he helped their wireless operator send out messages from surviving passengers and survivor lists. The two knew each other previous, were good friends and their friendship continued for many years after the disaster. He was a wireless operator in WWI, but post- _Titanic_ he kept a low profile, becoming a salesman, marrying and having three children.

I found a map telling how many miles _Titanic_ was from England at midnight each day of its voyage and that’s what I used to determine where Crowley explored when he went to check for icebergs. It’s probably just estimates based on the ship going full-throttle at 23 knots per hour but considering this is a fictional story involving an angel and a demon, I think possibly incorrect mileage is the least of the implausible things covered here.

I play with a couple of myths here. _Titanic_ was probably not called “unsinkable” by anyone until after its demise. The idea that Captain Edward J. Smith did say God couldn’t sink the ship came from an unsubstantiated claim of a passenger. Many eyewitness accounts on the events of the sinking were unreliable because they contradict each other. But I needed a reason for Heaven to want to make an example of the ship.

Also, there is no solid historical evidence gates were locked to keep third-class passengers in, just the word of one third-class survivor. No other surviving steerage passenger said anything about locked gates. Less than a of third class survived for several reasons – two of those being there were many from Sweden and other countries who didn’t speak English so weren’t sure what was going on and also no lifeboats were near the third class areas so they had the longest trek to get to them. To get to the Boat Deck, they would have had to take winding, confusing corridors, and a lot of them, according to several eye witness accounts, apparently just gave up, staying in their cabins or gathering in their general room to pray. There were gates to keep them in their area of the ship in compliance with U.S. immigration law but that was it. They generally were not locked on ships and in many were merely waist-high lattices reminding passengers to stay in their area. The fear of infectious diseases in an era where there were not today’s vaccinations or antibiotics was very real and all immigrants who came through Ellis Island like the ones on _Titanic_ would have if she hadn’t have sunk were quarantined until they had health checks. Coming across a locked gate gave Aziraphale something heroic to do. He doesn’t get enough Moments of Awesome.

A minor inaccuracy – the first class saloon did have a buffet, but it was only for lunch while I took the liberty of making a breakfast one. Either way I can’t imagine the mess they would have to clean up if they hit bad enough seas. Ships back then didn’t have stabilizers like they do today. Good thing the dining saloons had tile floors.

And there’s your history lesson for the day, kids. Thanks for attending my TED talk.


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